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GEORGE  BENJAMIN  CARPENTER 


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A LOYAL  RESIDENT  OE  PARK  RIDGE 
1871  TO  1912 

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$onore  lie  ISa^ac 


f^onotfc  Dc  USaUar 

PROVINCIAL  LIFE 


VOLUME  V 


LIMITED 

TO  ONE  THOUSAND  COMPLETE  COPIES 

14  7 

NO.  * * 

THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  MAISON  PAPION 


After  having  made  sure  that  nobody  was  looking , 
I nestled  into  this  back  like  a child  throwing  itself 
upon  its  mother's  bosom , and  covered  those  shoulders 
with  kisses  whilst  burying  my  head  in  them. 

The  woman  gave  a piercing  cry. 


ETCHINGS  BY 
EOS  RIOS,  AFTER 
PAINTINGS  BY  TOUDOUZE 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 
BY 

MAY  TOMLINSON 


LA  COMEDIE  HUMAINE 


BY 

Hoitore  tr e 3$al|ac 


NOW  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME 
COMPLETELY  TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH 


VOLUME 

XXVII 


PRINTED  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS  ONLY  BY 
GEORGE  BARRIE  6-  SON 
PHILADELPHIA 


COPYRIGHTED,  1897,  BY  G.  B.  & SON 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


TO  MONSIEUR  - B.  NACQUART,  MEMBER  OF  THE 
ROYAL  ACADEMY  OF  MEDICINE. 

Dear  Doctor,— 

Here  is  one  of  the  most  polished  stones  in  the 
second  stratum  of  a literary  edifice  slowly  and  la- 
boriously constructed  ; I wish  to  inscribe  it  with 
your  name,  as  much  to  thank  the  scholar  who  was 
once  my  salvation,  as  to  honor  the  everyday  friend. 

De  Balzac. 


TO  MADAME  LA  CO MT ESSE  NATALIE  DE  MANERVILLE. 

“ I yield  to  your  desire.  The  woman  whom  we 
love  better  than  she  loves  us  possesses  the  privilege 
of  making  us  forget  the  rules  of  common  sense  at 
every  turn.  In  order  to  escape  the  frown  upon  your 
brow,  and  to  banish  the  pouting  expression  of  the 
lips  that  are  saddened  by  the  slightest  denial,  we 
traverse  long  distances  miraculously,  we  shed  our 
blood,  we  waste  the  future.  To-day,  you  want  my 
past ; here  it  is.  Only,  remember  this,  Natalie  : in 
obeying  you,  I have  had  to  trample  upon  inviolate 
reluctance.  But  why  suspect  the  sudden  long 
reveries  that  attack  me  sometimes  in  the  height  of 
happiness  ? Why  show  a spoilt  woman’s  dainty 
wrath  about  a silence  ? Could  you  not  laugh  at  the 
contradictions  in  my  character  without  seeking  the 
cause  of  them  ? Are  there  secrets  in  your  heart 
which  in  order  to  win  absolution,  must  needs  have 
mine  ? In  short,  you  have  guessed  it,  Natalie, 
and  perhaps  it  is  best  that  you  should  know  all. 
Yes,  my  life  is  overshadowed  by  a phantom,  it  ap- 
pears vaguely  at  the  least  word  that  arouses  it,  it 
often  stirs  of  itself  above  me.  There  are  some 

(5) 


6 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


awful  memories  buried  in  the  depths  of  my  soul  like 
those  marine  productions  that  are  to  be  seen  in  calm 
weather,  and  that  are  thrown  up  by  the  storm-tides 
in  fragments  on  the  beach.  Although  the  labor 
necessary  for  the  expression  of  ideas  may  have  re- 
strained those  former  emotions  which  pain  me  so 
much  when  they  are  awakened  too  suddenly,  if  there 
are  any  outbursts  in  this  confession  that  may  wound 
you,  remember  that  you  have  threatened  me  if  I do 
not  obey  you  ; so  do  not  punish  me  for  having  done 
your  bidding.  I would  that  my  confidence  might 
redouble  your  tenderness.  Good-bye  till  to-night. 

“Felix.” 

To  what  tear-nurtured  talent  shall  we  some  day  be 
indebted  for  the  most  pathetic  elegy,  the  description 
of  the  tortures  silently  endured  by  souls  whose  still 
tender  roots  only  meet  with  sharp  stones  in  the 
home  soil,  whose  early  foliage  is  torn  by  spiteful 
hands,  whose  blossoms  are  struck  by  the  frost  the 
moment  they  open  ? Who  is  the  poet  that  will  tell 
us  the  sufferings  of  a child  whose  lips  have  sucked  a 
bitter  breast,  and  whose- smiles  are  quenched  by  the 
fierce  light  of  a stern  eye  ? The  fiction  that  should 
represent  these  poor  souls  oppressed  by  the  beings 
placed  around  them  to  encourage  the  development  of 
their  sensitiveness,  would  be  the  true  history  of  my 
youth.  What  vanity  could  I offend,  I,  a new-born 
child  ? To  what  physical  or  moral  disgrace  did  I 
owe  my  mother’s  coldness  ? Was  I then  the  child 
of  duty,  whose  birth  is  accidental,  or  whose  ex- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


7 


istence  is  a reproach  ? Put  out  to  nurse  in  the 
country,  forgotten  by  my  family  for  three  years, 
when  I returned  to  the  paternal  home,  I was  of  so 
little  account  that  I excited  the  compassion  of  the 
servants.  I do  not  know  what  feeling  or  what  happy 
chance  helped  to  raise  me  from  this  early  ostracism  ; 
with  me,  the  child  was  unconscious  and  the  man  knows 
nothing.  Far  from  softening  my  lot,  my  brother  and 
my  two  sisters  amused  themselves  by  making  me 
suffer.  The  compact  in  virtue  of  which  children  con- 
ceal their  peccadilloes,  and  which  first  teaches  them 
honor,  went  for  nothing  as  regards  myself ; more- 
over I often  found  myself  punished  for  my  brother's 
faults,  without  being  able  to  protest  against  this 
injustice ; could  it  be  that  toadyism,  which  is  im- 
planted in  all  children,  prompted  them  to  contribute 
to  the  persecutions  that  tormented  me  so  as  to  in- 
gratiate themselves  with  a mother  whom  they  like- 
wise dreaded  ? was  it  the  result  of  their  tendency  to 
imitation  ? was  it  the  desire  to  try  their  power,  or 
was  it  their  lack  of  pity  ? It  may  be  that  these 
causes  combined  deprived  me  of  the  comforts  of 
fraternity.  Already  disinherited  of  all  affection,  I 
could  not  love  anything,  and  Nature  had  made  me 
a lover ! Does  an  angel  gather  the  sighs  of  cease- 
lessly rebuffed  sensitiveness  ? If  in  some  hearts 
slighted  feelings  turn  to  hate,  in  mine  they  concen- 
trated themselves  and  there  hollowed  themselves  a 
bed  where,  later  on,  they  gushed  forth  upon  my  life. 
According  to  the  character,  the  habit  of  trembling 
relaxes  the  fibres,  engenders  fear,  and  fear  neces- 


8 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


sitates  submission.  Thence  comes  a weakness 
which  degenerates  the  man  and  imparts  to  him  an 
indescribable  something  of  the  slave.  But  these 
continual  troubles  accustomed  me  to  display  a 
Command  which  increased  with  exercise  and  pre- 
disposed my  mind  to  moral  resistance.  In  constant 
expectation  of  some  fresh  sorrow,  like  the  martyrs 
awaiting  fresh  blows,  my  whole  being  was  neces- 
sarily expressive  of  a dull  resignation  beneath  which 
the  graces  and  impulses  of  childhood  were  stifled, 
an  attitude  which  passed  for  a symptom  of  idiocy 
and  justified  my  mother’s  sinister  prognostications. 
The  conviction  of  this  injustice  prematurely  filled 
my  mind  with  pride,  the  offspring  of  reason,  which 
doubtless  checked  the  evil  propensities  that  such  a 
training  was  encouraging.  Although  forsaken  by 
my  mother,  I was  sometimes  the  object  of  her 
scruples,  sometimes  she  would  talk  about  my  educa- 
tion and  would  evince  a desire  to  attend  to  it ; hor- 
rible shivers  would  then  thrill  me  in  thinking  of  the 
anguish  that  daily  contact  with  her  would  cause  me. 
I blessed  my  neglect,  and  thought  myself  lucky  to 
be  able  to  stay  in  the  garden  playing  with  pebbles, 
watching  insects,  and  looking  at  the  blue  of  the 
heavens.  Although  loneliness  must  have  inclined 
me  to  reverie,  my  taste  foi  contemplation  came  from 
an  adventure  which  will  give  you  a picture  of  my 
early  misfortunes.  I was  of  so  little  account  that 
the  governess  often  forgot  to  put  me  to  bed.  One 
evening,  quietly  crouched  under  a fig-tree,  I was 
gazing  at  a star  with  that  eager  passion  which  over- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


9 


comes  children,  and  to  which  my  precocious  melan- 
choly added  a kind  of  sentimental  understanding. 
My  sisters  were  playing  and  screaming  ; I could  hear 
their  distant  clamor  like  an  accompaniment  to  my 
ideas.  The  noise  ceased,  night  fell.  By  chance, 
my  mother  remarked  my  absence.  In  order  to 
escape  blame,  our  governess,  a terrible  Mademoiselle 
Caroline,  justified  my  mother’s  fictitious  appre- 
hensions by  declaring  that  I abhorred  the  house  ; 
that,  did  she  not  watch  me  very  carefully  I should 
already  have  run  away  ; I was  not  imbecile,  but 
cunning ; amongst  all  the  children  entrusted  to  her 
care,  she  had  never  met  with  any  whose  disposition 
were  as  bad  as  mine.  She  pretended  to  look  for 
me  and  called  me,  I answered  ; she  came  to  the  fig- 
tree  where  she  knew  me  to  be. 

“ What  were  you  doing  there  ? ” she  said. 

“ I was  looking  at  a star.” 

“You  were  not  looking  at  a star,”  said  my 
mother,  who  was  listening  to  us  from  her  balcony, 
“ does  a child  of  your  age  know  astronomy  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! madame,”  cried  Mademoiselle  Caroline, 
“he  has  turned  on  the  tap  of  the  reservoir,  the 
garden  is  flooded.” 

There  was  a general  uproar.  My  sisters  had 
amused  themselves  turning  the  tap  to  see  the  water 
run  ; but,  surprised  by  the  spreading  of  a jet  that 
had  watered  them  on  all  sides,  they  had  lost  their 
heads  and  run  away  without  having  been  able  to 
shut  off  the  tap.  Caught  and  convicted  of  having 
planned  this  mischief,  and  accused  of  lying  when 


IO 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I affirmed  my  innocence,  I was  severely  punished. 
But,  terrible  chastisement ! I was  quizzed  about 
my  love  for  the  stars,  and  my  mother  forbade  me  to 
stay  in  the  garden  at  night.  Tyrannical  prohibi- 
tions stimulate  a passion  in  children  even  more  than 
in  men  ; children  have  the  advantage  over  them  of 
thinking  only  of  the  forbidden  thing,  which  then 
presents  irresistible  attractions.  So  I often  suffered 
a whipping  for  the  sake  of  my  star.  Not  being  able 
to  confide  in  anybody,  I used  to  tell  it  my  sorrows 
in  that  delicious  inward  prattle  with  which  a child 
lisps,  its  first  ideas  as  it  once  lisped  its  first  words. 
At  the 'age  of  twelve,  when  at  college,  I still  con- 
templated it  with  indescribable  delight,  so  deeply 
traced  upon  the  heart  are  the  impressions  received 
in  the  dawn  of  life. 

Charles,  who  was  five  years  older  than  I,  was  as 
lovely  as  a child  as  he  is  handsome  as  a man  ; he  was 
my  father’s  favorite,  my  mother’s  darling,  the  hope  of 
the  family,  therefore  the  lord  of  the  house.  Well- 
made  and  vigorous,  he  had  a tutor.  I,  puny  and 
feeble,  was  sent  as  a day-boarder  to  a school  in  the 
town,  escorted  there  in  the  morning  and  brought 
back  at  night  by  my  father’s  valet.  I used  to  go  off 
carrying  a meagrely  furnished  hamper,  whilst  my 
schoolfellows  brought  abundant  provisions.  The  con- 
trast between  my  deprivation  and  their  plenty  gave 
rise  to  untold  sufferings.  The  famous  “ rillettes” 
and  “ rillons  ” of  Tours  formed  the  chief  element  of 
the  meal  we  took  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  between 
the  morning  dejeuner  and  the  house  dinner  which  was 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


II 


served  when  we  went  in  again.  This  preparation, 
so  much  prized  by  some  epicures,  rarely  appeared 
on  aristocratic  tables  in  Tours  ; if  I had  heard  it 
mentioned  before  being  sent  to  school,  I had  never 
been  so  lucky  as  to  have  seen  this  brown  preserve 
spread  upon  a slice  of  bread  for  me  ; but  even  had 
it  not  been  in  fashion  at  school,  my  longing  would 
have  been  none  the  less  keen,  for  it  had  become,  as 
it  were,  a fixed  idea,  like  the  desire  with  which  the 
stews  cooked  by  the  portress  inspired  one  of  the 
most  elegant  duchesses  in  Paris,  and  which,  woman- 
like, she  gratified.  Children  divine  covetousness  in 
the  glance  just  as  well  as  you  can  read  love ; so  I 
then  became  an  excellent  subject  for  mockery.  My 
schoolfellows,  who  nearly  all  belonged  to  the  smaller 
tradesmen’s  class,  used  to  come  and  show  me  their 
excellent  rillettes  while  asking  me  if  I knew  how  they 
were  made,  where  they  were  sold,  and  why  I did 
not  have  any.  They  would  lick  their  lips  whilst 
praising  the  rillons , those  remnants  of  pork  fried  in  its 
own  fat  and  resembling  cooked  truffles  ; they  would 
clear  out  my  basket,  finding  nothing  in  it  but  some 
Olivet  cheeses,  or  some  dried  fruits,  and  would  plague 
me  with  a “ Then  you  have  nothing  to  eat?  ” which 
taught  me  to  compare  the  difference  made  between 
my  brother  and  myself.  This  contrast  between  my 
abandonment  and  the  happiness  of  others  has  soiled 
the  roses  of  my  childhood,  and  withered  my  verdant 
youth.  The  first  time  that,  deceived  by  a generous 
feeling,  I put  out  my  hand  to  accept  the  long  coveted 
dainty  which  was  offered  to  me  with  a hypocritical 


12 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


expression,  my  hoaxer  drew  back  his  slice,  to  the 
glee  of  the  schoolfellows  who  had  been  forewarned 
of  this  issue.  If  the  most  eminent  minds  are  acces- 
sible to  vanity,  how  is  it  not  possible  to  forgive  the 
child  who  cries  at  seeing  himself  despised  and  jeered 
at  ? At  this  game,  how  many  children  would  have 
become  gluttons,  beggars,  cowards  ! To  avoid  per- 
secution, I fought.  The  courage  of  despair  rendered 
me  formidable,  but  I was  an  object  of  hatred,  and  was 
helpless  against  treachery.  One  night,  going  home, 
I was  struck  in  the  back  with  a handkerchief  full  of 
stones.  When  the  valet,  who  avenged  me  with 
violence,  informed  my  mother  of  this  incident,  she 
cried:  “That  wretched  child  will  give  us  nothing 
but  trouble ! ” 

I was  filled  with  a horrible  distrust  of  myself  at 
finding  there  the  same  repulsion  that  I inspired  in 
my  family.  There,  as  at  home,  I retired  within  my- 
self. A second  fall  of  snow  checked  the  flowering 
of  the  seeds  sown  in  my  heart.  I saw  that  those 
who  were  beloved  were  thorough  rogues,  my  pride 
relied  upon  this  observation  ; I dwelt  alone.  And 
so  continued  the  impossibility  of  giving  vent  to 
the  feelings  that  swelled  my  heart.  Seeing  me 
always  gloomy,  hated  and  solitary,  the  master  con- 
firmed the  erroneous  suspicions  of  my  family  as  to 
my  evil  nature.  As  soon  as  I could  read  and  write, 
my  mother  had  me  banished  to  Pont-le-Voy,  a col- 
lege directed  by  Oratorians,  who  admitted  children 
of  my  age  into  a class  called  the  class  of  the  Pas 
latins , where  were  also  the  scholars  whose  back: 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


13 


ward  intelligence  resisted  the  rudiments.  I remained 
there  eight  years,  without  seeing  a soul,  and  leading 
the  life  of  an  outcast.  This  is  how  and  why.  I 
only  had  three  francs  a month  pocket-money,  a sum 
barely  covering  the  pens,  pen-knives,  rulers,  ink 
and  paper  with  which  it  had  to  supply  us.  And  so, 
being  unable  to  buy  either  the  stilts,  whipcord  or 
any  of  the  things  necessary  for  the  college  amuse- 
ments, I was  banished  from  the  games  ; to  have 
been  admitted  I should  have  had  to  fawn  upon  the 
rich,  or  flatter  the  stronger  members  of  my  division. 
The  least  of  those  acts  of  cowardice  that  children  so 
readily  indulge  in,  made  my  heart  bound.  I would 
remain  under  a tree,  lost  in  mournful  reveries,  or 
reading  the  books  that  were  distributed  to  us  monthly 
by  the  librarian.  What  grief  was  hidden  beneath 
this  stupendous  solitude  ! what  anguish  was  bred  by 
my  neglect ! Imagine  what  my  sensitive  soul  must 
have  felt  at  the  first  distribution  of  prizes,  when  I 
won  the  two  most  coveted,  the  prize  for  essays,  and 
that  for  translation  ! Upon  ascending  the  platform 
to  receive  them,  in  the  midst  of  acclamations  and 
flourishes,  I had  neither  father  nor  mother  to  care 
about  me,  whilst  the  audience  was  filled  with  the 
parents  of  all  my  schoolfellows.  Instead  of  kissing 
the  distributor,  according  to  custom,  I flung  myself 
onto  his  breast  and  burst  into  tears.  That  night  I 
burnt  my  wreaths  in  the  stove.  The  parents  stayed 
in  town  for  the  week  devoted  to  the  exercises  that 
preceded  the  distribution  of  prizes,  and  so  my  school- 
fellows all  decamped  joyfully  every  morning  ; whilst 


H 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I,  whose  parents  were  a few  miles  away,  remained 
in  the  courtyards  with  the  outre-mer,  the  name  given 
to  those  scholars  whose  families  were  in  the  West 
Indies  or  abroad.  In  the  evening,  during  prayers, 
the  barbarians  boasted  to  us  about  the  good  dinners 
they  had  had  with  their  parents.  You  will  always 
see  my  misery  increasing  in  proportion  to  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  social  spheres  I entered.  How 
many  efforts  have  I not  made  to  annul  the  sentence 
which  condemned  me  to  live  only  within  myself ! 
how  many  hopes  long  conceived  with  a thousand 
yearnings  of  soul,  and  destroyed  in  a day  ! 

In  order  to  persuade  my  parents  to  come  to  the 
college,  I wrote  them  letters  full  of  feeling,  perhaps 
affectedly  expressed,  but  ought  these  letters  to  have 
excited  the  reproaches  of  my  mother,  who  reproved 
me  ironically  for  my  style  ? Without  being  dis- 
couraged, I promised  to  fulfil  the  conditions  imposed 
by  my  mother  and  father  for  their  arrival ; I im- 
plored the  presence  of  my  sisters,  to  whom  1 used 
to  write  for  their  saint-days  and  birthdays,  with  the 
punctuality  of  poor  deserted  children,  but  with  fruit- 
less persistence.  As  the  time  approached  for  the 
distribution  of  prizes,  I renewed  my  entreaties,  1 
spoke  of  my  presentiment  of  triumphs.  Deceived 
by  the  silence  of  my  parents,  I was  expecting  them 
with  enthusiasm,  I told  my  schoolfellows  of  their 
coming  ; and  when,  upon  the  arrival  of  the  families, 
the  step  of  the  old  porter  who  called  the  scholars 
re-echoed  in  the  courtyard,  I then  endured  sickening 
palpitations.  The  old  man  never  mentioned  my 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


15 


name.  The  day  upon  which  I owned  to  having 
cursed  existence,  my  confessor  pointed  to  the  sky 
where  blossomed  the  palm  promised  by  the  Saviour’s 
Beati  qui  lugent!  At  the  time  of  my  first  com- 
munion, I threw  myself  into  the  mysterious  depths 
of  prayer,  captivated  by  the  religious  ideas  whose 
moral  magic  enchants  youthful  minds.  Fired  by 
ardent  faith,  I prayed  God  to  repeat  in  my  behalf 
the  fascinating  miracles  that  I used  to  read  of  in  the 
Martyrology.  At  five  years  old,  I flew  up  to  a star ; 
at  twelve,  I went  knocking  at  the  portals  of  the 
sanctuary.  My  ecstasy  produced  within  me  inde- 
scribable dreams  that  stocked  my  imagination,  en- 
riched my  tenderness  and  invigorated  my  thinking 
faculties.  1 have  often  attributed  these  sublime 
visions  to  angels  charged  with  fashioning  my  soul  to 
some  divine  destiny  ; they  have  endowed  my  eyes 
with  the  power  of  seeing  the  inmost  meaning  of 
things ; they  have  prepared  my  heart  for  the 
witchery  which  makes  the  poet  miserable  when  he 
possesses  the  fatal  power  of  comparing  what  he 
feels  to  what  is,  the  great  things  striven  for  to  the 
little  gained  ; they  have  written  a book  in  my  head 
in  which  I have  been  able  to  read  what  I had  to  ex- 
press, they  have  furnished  my  lips  with  the  impro- 
visor’s charcoal. 

My  father  entertained  some  doubts  as  to  the  ex- 
tent of  the  Oratorian  teaching,  and  came  to  remove 
me  from  Pont-le-Voy  to  place  me  in  an  institution  in 
Paris  situated  in  the  Marais.  I was  fifteen  years 
old.  Examination  having  been  made  of  my  capacity, 


i6 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  rhetorician  of  Pont-le-Voy  was  judged  worthy  of 
being  put  in  the  third  form.  The  sufferings  I had 
experienced  at  home,  at  school  and  at  college  I was 
to  meet  again  under  a fresh  guise  during  my  sojourn 
at  the  pension  Lepitre.  My  father  had  given  me 
no  money.  When  my  parents  found  that  I could 
be  fed,  clothed,  crammed  with  Latin,  stuffed  with 
Greek,  all  was  solved.  During  the  course  of  my 
college  life,  I have  known  about  a thousand  fellow- 
students,  and  have  never  met  with  any  example 
of  such  indifference.  Monsieur  Lepitre,  fanatically 
attached  to  the  Bourbons,  had  had  relations  with 
my  father  at  the  time  that  some  devoted  royalists 
attempted  to  remove  queen  Marie-Antoinette  from 
the  Temple  ; they  had  renewed  their  acquaintance,  so 
Monsieur  Lepitre  considered  himself  obliged  to  make 
up  for  my  father’s  forgetfulness,  but  the  sum  which 
he  gave  me  monthly  was  moderate,  for  he  was  not 
aware  of  my  family’s  views.  The  school  was  estab- 
lished in  the  old  hotel  Joyeuse,  where,  as  in  all  old 
seigneurial  residences,  there  was  a porter’s  lodge. 
During  the  recreation  preceding  the  hour  at  which 
the  ushers  escorted  us  to  the  Charlemagne  lyceum, 
the  wealthy  students  went  to  breakfast  at  the 
porter’s,  a man  called  Doisy.  Monsieur  Lepitre  either 
ignored  or  tolerated  the  business  carried  on  by 
Doisy,  a regular  smuggler,  whom  it  was  to  the  in- 
terest of  the  pupils  to  make  much  of ; he  was  the 
secret  chaperon  of  our  rambles,  the  confidant  of  late 
returns,  our  medium  with  the  agents  of  forbidden 
books.  Breakfast  of  a cup  of  cafe  an  lait  was  an 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


17 


aristocratic  taste  accounted  for  by  the  exorbitant 
price  to  which  colonial  produce  rose  under  Napoleon. 
If  the  use  of  sugar  and  coffee  constituted  a luxury 
with  the  parents,  with  us  it  indicated  a vainglorious 
superiority  which  would  have  encouraged  our  passion, 
even  if  the  propensity  to  imitation,  greediness,  and 
the  contagion  of  fashion  had  not  sufficed.  Doisy 
gave  us  credit,  assuming  that  we  all  had  sisters  or 
aunts  who  approve  of  the  point  of  honor  of  scholars 
and  pay  their  debts.  For  a long  time  I resisted  the 
allurements  of  the  coffee-house.  Had  those  who 
judged  me  known  the  force  of  the  seductions,  my 
soul’s  heroic  aspirations  to  stoicism,  the  fits  of  sub- 
dued rage  during  my  long  resistance,  they  would 
have  dried  my  tears  instead  of  causing  them  to  flow. 
But,  child  as  I was,  how  could  I be  possessed  of 
that  largeness  of  mind  that  despises  the  scorn  of 
others?  Then  perhaps  I was  conscious  of  the  temp- 
tations of  several  social  vices,  the  strength  of  which 
was  increased  by  my  longing. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  second  year,  my  father 
and  mother  came  to  Paris.  The  day  of  their  arrival 
was  announced  to  me  by  my  brother : he  lived  in 
Paris  and  had  never  paid  me  a single  visit.  My 
sisters  were  of  the  party,  and  we  were  to  see  Paris 
together.  The  first  day,  we  were  to  dine  at  the 
Palais-Royal  so  as  to  be  handy  to  the  Theatre- 
Francais.  In  spite  of  the  intoxication  produced  by 
this  programme  of  unexpected  festivities,  my  joy 
was  damped  by  the  storm  that  so  quickly  affects 
those  accustomed  to  misfortune.  I had  to  confess 


2 


i8 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  debt  of  a hundred  francs  contracted  with  the  Sieur 
Doisy,  who  threatened  to  demand  the  money 
himself  from  my  parents.  I contrived  to  make  my 
brother  the  ambassador  for  Doisy,  the  interpreter  of 
my  penitence,  and  the  mediator  for  my  pardon.  My 
father  was  inclined  to  be  indulgent.  But  my  mother 
was  pitiless,  her  dark  blue  eye  petrified  me,  she 
burst  out  with  terrible  prophecies.  “What  should 
I be  later,  if,  at  seventeen  I was  up  to  such  tricks  ? 
Could  I really  be  her  son  ? Was  I going  to  ruin  my 
family  ? Was  I the  only  one  at  home  ? Did  not 
my  brother  Charles’s  profession  require  a separate 
endowment,  already  earned  by  behavior  that  did 
honor  to  his  family,  whilst  I was  to  be  the  shame 
of  it  ? Were  my  two  sisters  to  marry  without 
dowry  ? Was  I ignorant  of  the  value  of  money,  and 
of  what  I cost  ? Of  what  use  were  sugar  and  coffee 
in  an  education  ? To  behave  in  this  way,  was  it 
not  to  become  initiated  into  all  vices  ? Marat  was 
an  angel  compared  to  me. 

When  I had  endured  the  shock  of  this  torrent, 
which  conveyed  a thousand  terrors  to  my  mind,  my 
brother  took  me  back  to  school ; I lost  the  dinner  at 
the  Freres-Provencaux  and  was  deprived  of  seeing 
Talma  in  Britannicus.  Such  was  my  interview  with 
my  mother  after  a separation  of  twelve  years. 


When  I had  finished  my  classical  studies,  my 
father  left  me  under  the  tutelage  of  Monsieur  Lepitre  ; 
I was  to  learn  the  higher  mathematics,  read  law  for  a 
year  and  begin  a course  of  classical  study.  I be- 
lieved, as  a parlor-boarder  and  exempt  from  classes, 
that  there  would  be  a truce  between  misery  and  me. 
But,  in  spite  of  my  nineteen  years,  or  perhaps  on 
account  of  them,  my  father  continued  the  system 
which  had  sent  me  to  school  in  times  gone  by  with 
insufficient  victuals,  to  college  without  pocket-money, 
and  given  me  Doisy  as  a creditor.  I had  very  little 
money  at  my  disposal.  How  attempt  anything  in 
Paris  without  money  ? Besides,  my  liberty  was  skil- 
fully fettered.  Monsieur  Lepitre  had  me  escorted  to 
the  law  schools  by  an  usher  who  handed  me  over  to 
the  professor,  and  came  to  fetch  me  again.  A young 
girl  would  have  been  guarded  with  less  precaution 
than  was  suggested  for  the  care  of  my  person  by 
my  mother’s  fears.  My  parents  had  good  cause  to 
dread  Paris.  Students  are  secretly  occupied  with 
the  same  thing  that  absorbs  young  girls  in  their 
boarding-schools ; in  spite  of  everything,  the  latter 
will  always  talk  about  lovers,  and  the  former  about 

(19) 


20 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


women.  But,  in  Paris,  and  at  that  time,  conversa- 
tion between  schoolfellows  was  influenced  by  the 
oriental  and  sultanesque  world  of  the  Palais-Royal. 
The  Palais-Royal  was  an  Eldorado  of  love,  where, 
at  night,  ingots  slipped  away  ready  coined.  There 
the  most  virginal  scruples  vanished,  there  our  in- 
flamed desires  could  be  appeased ! The  Palais- 
Royal  and  I,  we  were  two  asymptotes  verging  one 
toward  the  other  without  being  able  to  meet.  This 
is  how  fate  thwarted  my  attempts.  My  father  had 
introduced  me  to  one  of  my  aunts  who  lived  on  the 
isle  of  Saint-Louis,  where  I had  to  go  and  dine  on 
Thursdays  and  Sundays,  conveyed  by  Madame  or 
Monsieur  Lepitre,  who,  on  those  days,  used  to  go 
out  and  pick  me  up  at  night  on  their  way  home. 
Strange  recreation ! The  Marquise  de  Listomere 
was  a ceremonious  grande  dame  who  would  never 
have  thought  of  offering  me  a penny.  Ancient  as  a 
cathedral,  painted  like  a miniature,  gorgeous  in  her 
attire,  she  lived  in  her  mansion  as  if  Louis  XV.  were 
not  dead,  and  she  saw  no  one  but  old  women  and 
noblemen,  a company  of  fossilized  creatures  amongst 
whom  I felt  as  if  I were  in  a cemetery.  Nobody 
spoke  a word  to  me,  and  I felt  I had  not  the  courage 
to  speak  first.  The  inimical  or  chilly  looks  made 
me  ashamed  of  my  youthfulness,  which  seemed 
annoying  to  them  all.  I based  the  success  of  my 
escapade  upon  this  indifference,  by  resolving  to 
steal  away  one  day,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  finished, 
so  as  to  fly  to  the  Galeries  de  Bois.  Once  deep  in 
whist,  my  aunt  never  paid  me  any  further  attention. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


21 


Jean,  her  valet,  paid  but  little  attention  to  Monsieur 
Lepitre  ; but  this  miserable  dinner  was  unfortunately 
prolonged  on  account  of  the  antiquity  of  the  jaws  or 
the  imperfection  of  the  teeth. 

At  last,  one  evening,  between  eight  and  nine 
o’clock,  I had  got  as  far  as  the  staircase,  palpitating 
like  Bianca  Capello  on  the  day  of  her  flight ; but, 
when  the  porter  opened  the  gate  for  me  I saw 
Monsieur  Lepitre’s  cab  in  the  street,  and  the  old 
man  asking  for  me  in  his  wheezy  voice.  Three  times 
did  chance  interpose  fatally  between  the  hell  of  the 
Palais-Royal  and  the  paradise  of  my  youth.  The 
day  upon  which,  feeling  ashamed  of  being  so  ignorant 
at  twenty  years  old,  I resolved  to  brave  all  perils  to 
put  an  end  to  it ; just  as,  giving  the  slip  to  Monsieur 
Lepitre  as  he  was  getting  into  his  carriage — a difficult 
operation,  he  was  as  fat  as  Louis  XVIII.  and  club- 
footed ! — well,  my  mother  arrived  in  a post-chaise  ! 
Her  look  stopped  me  and  I stood  like  a bird  before  a 
snake.  By  what  chance  had  I met  her  ? Nothing 
more  natural.  Napoleon  was  venturing  his  last 
stroke.  My  father,  foreseeing  the  return  of  the 
Bourbons,  had  come  to  cast  an  eye  upon  my  brother, 
who  was  already  employed  in  imperial  diplomacy. 
He  had  left  Tours  with  my  mother.  My  mother 
had  undertaken  to  fetch  me  home  to  shelter  me 
from  the  dangers  which  seemed  to  be  threaten- 
ing the  capital  according  to  those  who  were  in- 
telligently following  the  progress  of  the  enemy. 
In  a few  minutes  I was  carried  away  from  Paris, 
just  as  my  continuance  there  was  about  to  become 


22 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


fatal  to  me.  The  torments  of  an  imagination  cease- 
lessly disturbed  by  suppressed  longings,  the  worries 
of  a life  saddened  by  constant  privation,  had  com- 
pelled me  to  take  refuge  in  study,  as  men,  weary 
of  their  lot  once  used  to  shut  themselves  up  in  a 
monastery.  With  me,  study  had  become  a passion 
which  might  be  fatal  to  me  by  imprisoning  me  at  a 
period  in  which  young  men  ought  to  give  themselves 
up  to  the  delightful  activities  of  their  youthful 
nature. 

This  slight  sketch  of  a youth  in  which  you  will 
find  innumerable  elegies  was  necessary  in  order  to 
explain  the  influence  it  exercised  upon  my  future. 
Affected  by  so  many  morbid  elements,  at  twenty 
and  more  1 was  still  small,  thin  and  pale.  My 
mind,  full  of  determination,  was  struggling  with  a 
body  apparently  feeble,  but  which,  according  to  the 
saying  of  an  old  doctor  at  Tours,  was  undergoing 
the  last  fusion  of  an  iron  constitution.  Childish  in 
body  and  old  in  mind,  1 had  read  and  meditated  so 
much  that  metaphysically  I knew  life  in  its  heights 
just  as  I was  about  to  find  out  the  tortuous  difficulties 
of  its  defiles  and  the  sandy  paths  of  its  plains.  Un- 
heard of  chances  had  left  me  in  that  delicious  period 
when  the  first  tumults  of  the  soul  arise,  when  it 
awakens  to  voluptuousness,  when  it  finds  every- 
thing sapid  and  fresh.  I was  between  my  puberty 
prolonged  by  my  studies  and  my  virility,  that  was 
tardily  shooting  forth  its  green  branches.  No 
young  man  was  ever  better  prepared  than  I was. to 
feel  and  love.  In  order  to  thoroughly  understand  my 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


23 


story,  you  must  look  back  to  that  beautiful  age 
when  the  mouth  is  pure  of  lies  and  the  glance  frank, 
although  veiled  by  eyelids  weighted  by  diffidence  at 
variance  with  desire,  when  the  mind  does  not  com- 
ply with  the  Jesuitism  of  society,  when  the  heart’s 
cowardice  is  as  strong  as  the  generosity  of  early 
impulse. 

1 will  not  tell  you  about  the  journey  I took  with 
my  mother  from  Paris  to  Tours.  The  coldness  of 
her  manner  repressed  the  impulse  of  my  affection. 
Upon  leaving  each  fresh  stage,  I determined  to 
speak ; but  a look,  a word,  scared  away  the  sen- 
tences discreetly  contemplated  as  a beginning.  At 
Orleans,  just  as  we  were  going  to  bed,  my  mother 
reproached  me  for  my  silence.  I threw  myself  at 
her  feet,  I kissed  her  knees  whilst  weeping  bitterly, 
I opened  my  heart  that  was  bursting  with  affection  ; 
I tried  to  touch  her  with  the  eloquence  of  an  appeal 
that  was  starving  for  love,  the  accents  of  which 
would  have  stirred  the  pity  of  a step-mother.  My 
mother  replied  that  I was  making  myself  ridiculous. 
I complained  about  her  neglect,  she  called  me  an  un- 
natural son.  I felt  such  a terrible  pang,  that  at 
Blois  I ran  on  to  the  bridge  to  throw  myself  into  the 
Loire.  My  suicide  was  prevented  by  the  height  of 
the  parapet. 

Upon  my  arrival,  my  two  sisters,  who  did  not 
know  me  at  all,  displayed  more  astonishment  than 
tenderness ; and  yet,  later  on,  in  comparison,  they 
seemed  to  me  to  be  full  of  kindliness  toward  me.  I 
was  put  in  a room  on  the  third  story.  You  will  un- 


24 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


derstand  the  extent  of  my  misery  when  I tell  you 
that  my  mother  left  me,  a young  man  of  twenty, 
without  any  other  linen  than  that  in  my  miserable 
school  outfit,  without  any  other  wardrobe  than  my 
Paris  clothes.  If  I flew  from  one  end  of  the 
salon  to  the  other  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief 
for  her,  she  would  only  give  me  the  cold  thanks 
that  a woman  addresses  to  her  footman.  Driven  to 
examining  her  to  find  out  if  there  were  any  soft  spot 
in  her  heart  to  which  I might  attach  some  shoots  of 
affection,  I saw  her  to  be  a tall,  thin,  dry  woman, 
managing,  selfish,  impertinent  like  all  the  Listomeres, 
with  whom  impertinence  was  included  in  the  dowry. 
She  saw  nothing  in  life  but  the  fulfilment  of  duties  ; 
all  the  cold  women  whom  I have  met,  like  her,  made 
a religion  of  duty  ; she  received  our  adoration  as  a 
priest  receives  the  incense  at  mass ; my  elder 
brother  seemed  to  have  absorbed  the  little  maternity 
in  her  heart.  She  was  constantly  stinging  us  with 
shafts  of  cutting  irony,  the  weapon  of  heartless 
people,  and  which  she  employed  against  us,  who 
could  answer  her  nothing.  In  spite  of  these  thorny 
barriers,  instinctive  feelings  hold  by  so  many  roots, 
and  the  religious  terror  inspired  by  a mother 
whom  it  costs  too  much  to  provoke,  preserves  so 
many  bonds,  that  the  sublime  error  of  our  love  con- 
tinued until  the  day,  when,  later  on  in  life,  she  was 
supremely  judged.  Then  begins  the  retaliation  of 
the  children  ; their  indifference,  begotten  by  the  de- 
ceptions of  the  past,  magnified  by  the  slimy  dregs 
that  they  can  recall,  extends  even  to  the  grave. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


25 


This  terrible  despotism  dispelled  the  voluptuous 
ideas  that  I had  madly  dreamed  of  satisfying  at 
Tours.  I flung  myself  hopelessly  into  my  father’s 
library,  where  I set  to  work  to  read  all  the  books 
that  I did  not  know.  My  long  sittings  at  work 
spared  me  all  contact  with  my  mother,  but  they 
aggravated  my  moral  condition.  Sometimes  my 
eldest  sister,  the  one  who  has  married  our  cousin 
the  Marquis  de  Listomere,  tried  to  comfort  me  with- 
out being  able  to  soothe  the  irritation  of  which  I 
was  the  victim.  1 wanted  to  die. 

Great  events,  with  which  I was  unacquainted, 
were  then  brewing.  Having  left  Bordeaux  to  rejoin 
Louis  XVIII.  in  Paris,  the  Due  d’Angouleme,  on  his 
way  through  each  town,  was  receiving  ovations  pre- 
pared in  the  enthusiasm  which  seized  ancient  France 
upon  the  return  of  the  Bourbons.  La  Touraine  all 
astir  for  her  lawful  princes,  the  town  in  an  uproar, 
the  windows  decked  with  flags,  the  inhabitants  in 
Sunday  clothes,  the  preparations  for  a holiday,  and 
an  indescribable  something  in  the  air  that  intoxicates, 
gave  me  a longing  to  be  present  at  the  ball  given  to 
the  prince.  When  I had  summoned  up  enough 
courage  to  express  this  desire  to  my  mother,  who 
was  then  too  ill  to  take  part  in  the  fete,  she  was 
greatly  incensed.  Had  I just  come  from  Congo  that 
I was  so  ignorant  ? How  could  I imagine  that  our 
family  would  not  be  represented  at  this  ball  ? In 
the  absence  of  my  father  and  my  brother,  was  it  not 
my  place  to  go  ? Had  I not  a mother  ? did  she  not 
think  of  the  happiness  of  her  children  ? In  one  mo- 


26 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


ment,  the  half  disowned  son  became  a somebody.  I 
was  as  much  bewildered  at  my  importance  as  at  the 
deluge  of  ironically  deducted  reasons  with  which  my 
mother  greeted  my  request.  I questioned  my  sisters 
and  learned  that  my  mother,  who  delighted  in  these 
surprises,  was  exerting  herself  about  my  dress. 
Overwhelmed  by  the  demands  of  his  customers, 
no  tailor  in  Tours  was  able  to  undertake  my  equip- 
ment. My  mother  sent  for  her  workwoman  who, 
following  the  custom  of  the  provinces,  knew  how  to 
do  all  sorts  of  needlework.  A passably-fitting  light 
blue  coat  was  secretly  made  for  me.  Silk  stockings 
and  new  pumps  were  easily  found  ; as- men’s  waist- 
coats were  being  worn  short,  I was  able  to  put  on 
one  of  my  father’s  ; for  the  first  time  I had  a frilled 
shirt  with  gauffers  that  inflated  my  chest  and  en- 
tangled themselves  in  the  bow  of  my  tie.  When  1 
was  dressed,  I resembled  myself  so  little  that  the 
compliments  of  my  sisters  gave  me  courage  to  appear 
before  the  Touraine  assembly.  It  was  an  arduous 
undertaking ! This  fete  admitted  too  many  of  the 
called  to  allow  of  the  presence  of  many  of  the  chosen. 
Thanks  to  the  slightness  of  my  figure,  I slipped  under 
a tent  erected  in  the  gardens  of  the  Maison  Papion, 
and  made  my  way  close  to  the  armchair  in  which  the 
prince  was  enthroned.  In  a moment  I was  suffo- 
cated by  the  heat,  dazzled  by  the  lights,  the  scarlet 
hangings,  the  gilt  decorations,  the  dresses  and  dia- 
monds of  the  first  public  fete  that  I had  ever  at- 
tended. I was  pushed  about  by  a crowd  of  men 
and  women  who  were  rushing  and  jostling  one 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


2 7 


another  in  a cloud  of  dust.  The  zealous  brass  in- 
struments and  Bourbonic  outbursts  of  the  military 
band  were  stifled  by  the  hurrahs  of  “ Vive  le  Due 
d’Angouleme  ! vive  le  roi ! vivent  les  Bourbons  ! ” 
This  fete  was  a whirl  of  enthusiasm  in  which  each 
one  tried  to  out-do  the  other  in  fierce  eagerness  to 
pursue  the  rising  sun  of  the  Bourbons,  a regular  party 
egotism  that  left  me  unmoved,  humbled  me,  and 
caused  me  to  retire  within  myself. 

Carried  away  like  a straw  in  this  whirlwind,  I felt 
a childish  longing  to  be  the  Due  d’Angouleme,  and  to 
mingle  thus  with  these  princes  who  were  parading 
before  a wondering  public.  The  foolish  emulation 
of  the  Tourangean  gave  rise  to  an  ambition  that  my 
temperament  and  the  circumstances  ennobled.  Who 
has  not  envied  that  adoration,  a grand  repetition  of 
which  I saw  some  months  later,  when  the  whole  of 
Paris  rushed  to  meet  the  Emperor  upon  his  return 
from  the  island  of  Elba  ? 

This  influence  over  the  masses,  whose  feelings 
and  vitality  find  vent  in  one  person  alone,  suddenly 
consecrated  me  to  fame,  that  priestess  who  slaugh- 
ters the  French  of  to-day,  as  the  druidess  once 
sacrificed  the  Gauls.  Then,  all  of  a sudden,  I met 
the  woman  who  was  to  ceaselessly  rouse  my  am- 
bitious longings,  and  gratify  them  by  thrusting  me 
into  the  heart  of  royalty. 

Too  shy  to  seek  a partner,  and  moreover,  fearing 
to  upset  the  figures,  I naturally  became  very  cross 
and  uncertain  as  to  what  to  do  with  myself.  Just  as 
I was  enduring  the  inevitable  crush  of  a crowd,  an 


28 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


officer  trod  upon  my  feet  which  were  as  much 
swollen  by  the  pressure  of  the  leather  as  by  the 
heat.  This  last  annoyance  disgusted  me  with  the 
fete.  It  was  impossible  to  get  out,  so  I took  refuge 
in  a corner,  on  the  end  of  a deserted  bench,  where  I 
remained,  staring  before  me,  motionless  and  sulky. 
A lady,  deceived  by  my  weakly  appearance  and 
taking  me  for  a sleepy  child  waiting  his  mother’s 
good  pleasure,  placed  herself  close  to  me  with  the 
movement  of  a bird  lowering  itself  into  its  nest. 
And  then  1 inhaled  a feminine  fragrance  that  burnt 
into  my  soul  as  Eastern  poetry  has  since  done. 
I looked  at  my  neighbor,  and  was  more  dazzled  by 
her  than  I had  been  by  the  fete ; she  became  all  my 
fete.  If  you  have  thoroughly  grasped  my  preceding 
life,  you  will  be  able  to  imagine  the  feelings  that 
welled  up  in  my  heart.  My  eyes  were  suddenly 
struck  by  the  plump  white  shoulders  upon  which  I 
should  have  liked  to  rest,  slightly  rosy  shoul- 
ders that  seemed  to  be  blushing  as  if  they  were 
bared  for  the  first  time,  chaste  shoulders  that  had  a 
soul,  and  whose  satin  skin  shone  in  the  light  like 
some  silken  tissue.  These  shoulders  were  divided 
by  a line  along  which  ran  my  glance,  bolder  than  my 
hand.  I raised  myself  up,  thrilling  all  over  to  see 
the  bust,  and  was  completely  fascinated  by  a throat 
modestly  covered  with  gauze,  but  whose  azured, 
perfectly-rounded  globes  lay  delicately  reposing  in 
clouds  of  lace.  The  slightest  details  of  this  head 
were  attractions  that  awakened  infinite  delight  within 
me  ; the  glitter  of  the  hair  smoothed  above  a neck 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


29 


as  velvety  as  a little  girl’s,  the  snowy  lines  traced  by 
the  comb  and  in  which  my  imagination  rambled  as 
in  fresh  pathways,  all  combined  to  make  me  lose  my 
senses.  After  having  made  sure  that  nobody  was 
looking,  I nestled  into  this  back  like  a child  throwing 
itself  upon  its  mother’s  bosom,  and  covered  those 
shoulders  with  kisses  whilst  burying  my  head  in 
them. 

The  woman  gave  a piercing  cry,  which  was 
drowned  in  the  noise  of  the  band,  turned  round,  saw 
me,  and  said  : 

“ Monsieur — ! ” 

Ah  ! had  she  said  : “ My  little  fellow,  whatever 
possesses  you  ? ” I might  perhaps  have  killed  her ; 
but  at  this  monsieur!  hot  tears  gushed  from  my 
eyes.  I was  petrified  by  a glance  glowing  with 
righteous  anger,  by  a sublime  head  crowned  with  a 
diadem  of  pale-yellow  hair,  in  keeping  with  that  soft 
back.  Her  face  was  flaring  with  the  purple  of  out- 
raged modesty,  already  half  disarmed  by  the  for- 
giveness of  the  woman  who  understands  frenzy 
when  she  is  the  cause  of  it,  and  recognizes  boundless 
adoration  in  the  tears  of  the  penitent.  She  walked 
away  with  a queenly  movement.  I then  became 
conscious  of  the  ridiculousness  of  my  position  ; then 
only,  I understood  that  I was  as  absurdly  dressed 
as  a Savoyard’s  monkey.  I was  ashamed  of  myself. 
1 remained,  all  stupefied,  relishing  the  apple  I had 
just  stolen,  my  lips  still  retaining  the  warmth  of  the 
blood  I had  inhaled,  following  this  Heaven-sent 
woman  with  my  eyes.  Overwhelmed  by  the  first 


30  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

sensual  phase  of  the  heart’s  great  fever,  I wandered 
through  the  ball-room,  now  a desert  to  me,  without 
being  able  to  discover  my  incognita.  I went  home 
to  bed  transformed. 

A new  soul,  a soul  with  many-colored  wings,  had 
burst  its  larva.  My  beloved  star,  fallen  from  the 
blue  steppes  where  I had  admired  it,  had  turned 
into  a woman  while  preserving  all  its  clearness, 
sparkle,  and  freshness.  Knowing  nothing  of  love  I 
was  all  of  a sudden  in  love.  Is  it  not  a strange 
thing,  this  first  outbreak  of  the  keenest  feeling  in 
man  ?■  I had  met  several  pretty  women  in  my 
aunt’s  salon,  not  one  of  whom  had  made  the  least  im- 
pression upon  me.  Is  there  then  an  hour,  a con- 
junction of  stars,  a reunion  of  distinct  circumstances, 
one  particular  woman  among  others,  that  determines 
an  exclusive  passion  at  a time  when  passion  em- 
braces the  entire  sex  ? At  the  thought  that  my 
elected  lived  in  Touraine,  I inhaled  the  air  with  de- 
light. I discovered  a color  in  the  blue  of  th$  sky 
that  I had  never  seen  in  it  anywhere  else.  Though 
I was  mentally  enraptured,  I appeared  to  be  seri- 
ously ill,  and  my  mother  was  anxious  and  half 
remorseful.  Like  animals  that  feel  the  approach  of 
evil,  I used  to  go  and  crouch  in  a corner  of  the  gar- 
den to  dream  of  the  kiss  I had  stolen. 

A few  days  after  this  memorable  ball,  my  mother 
attributed  the  neglect  of  my  studies,  my  indifference 
to  her  crushing  looks,  my  heedlessness  of  her  sar- 
casms, and  my  gloomy  attitude,  to  the  crises  natural 
to  young  men  of  my  age.  The  country,  that  eternal 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


31 


remedy  for  complaints  of  which  medicine  has  no 
knowledge,  was  looked  upon  as  the  best  means  of 
rousing  me  from  my  apathy.  My  mother  decided 
that  I should  go  and  spend  a few  days  at  Frapesle,  a 
chateau  on  the  Indre,  between  Montbazon  and  Azay- 
le-Rideau,  with  one  of  her  friends,  to  whom  she 
doubtless  gave  secret  instructions.  The  day  upon 
which  I was  thus  given  my  liberty,  I had  been 
swimming  so  rapidly  through  the  ocean  of  love, 
that  I had  traversed  it.  I was  unacquainted  with 
the  name  of  my  unknown  ; how  was  she  to  be 
described  ? where  was  she  to  be  found  ? moreover, 
to  whom  could  I speak  about  her  ? The  timidity  of 
my  disposition  still  further  aggravated  the  unaccount- 
able apprehensions  that  take  possession  of  youthful 
hearts  at  the  outset  of  love,  and  started  me  off  with 
the  melancholy  that  is  the  conclusion  of  hopeless 
passions.  I asked  nothing  better  than  to  come  and 
go,  and  roam  through  fields.  With  that  childish 
courage  that  stops  at  nothing  and  contains  an  inde- 
scribable chivalry,  I determined  to  ransack  the 
chateaux  of  Touraine,  travelling  on  foot,  and  say- 
ing to  myself  at  each  pretty  turret : “ It  is  there  ! ” 
And  so,  on  Thursday  morning,  I left  Tours  by 
the  barrier  Saint-Eloi,  crossed  the  bridges  of 
Saint-Sauveur,  arrived  at  Poncher — looking  up  at 
every  house — and  reached  the  road  to  Chinon.  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  I could  stop  under  a tree, 
walk  as  slowly  or  as  rapidly  as  I pleased,  without 
question  from  anyone.  To  a poor  creature  crushed 
beneath  the  various  tyrannies  which,  little  or  great, 


32  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

weigh  heavily  upon  all  young  people,  the  first  'em- 
ployment of  free  will,  exercised  even  in  trifles,  con- 
tributed indescribable  gladness  to  the  heart.  Many 
reasons  combined  to  make  this  day  a fete  full  of  en- 
chantments. In  my  childhood,  my  walks  had  never 
taken  me  further  than  a league  beyond  the  town. 
Neither  my  excursions  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pont- 
le-Voy  nor  those  that  I had  made  in  Paris  had  spoiled 
me  for  the  beauties  of  rural  nature.  Nevertheless, 
from  the  early  memories  of  my  life,  there  still  re- 
mained to  me  the  feeling  of  the  beautiful  which 
breathes  in  that  scenery  of  Tours  with  which  I had 
grown  familiar.  Although  entirely  fresh  to  the 
poetry  of  scenery,  I was,  however,  unconsciously 
exacting,  like  those  who,  without  having  any  ex- 
perience of  an  art,  at  once  form  an  ideal  of  it. 

In  going  to  the  chateau  of  Frapesle,  pedestrians 
and  horsemen  shorten  the  way  by  crossing  the 
plains  known  by  the  name  of  Charlemagne,  waste 
land,  situated  at  the  top  of  the  plateau  which  sep- 
arates the  valley  of  the  Cher  from  that  of  the  Indre, 
whence  leads  a short  cut  to  Champy.  These 
level,  sandy  plains,  which  depress  one  for  about  three 
miles,  connect,  through  a woody  clump,  with  the 
road  to  Sache,  the  name  of  the  parish  to  which 
Frapesle  belongs.  This  road,  which  runs  into  the 
road  to  Chinon,  well  beyond  Ballan,  skirts  an 
undulating  heath  with  no  particular  unevenness,  as 
far  as  the  little  district  of  Artanne.  Here  is  dis- 
closed a valley  beginning  at  Montbazon,  ending  at 
the  Loire,  and  apparently  starting  beneath  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


33 


chateaux  perched  upon  these  double  hills  ; a mag- 
nificent emerald  basin  in  the  bottom  of  which  winds 
the  Indre  with  serpentine  movements.  At  sight  of 
this,  I was  overcome  with  a delighted  astonishment 
for  which  the  tedium  of  the  plains  or  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey  had  paved  the  way. 

“If  this  woman,  the  flower  of  her  sex,  inhabits 
any  place  upon  earth,  this,  then,  is  the  place.” 

At  this  thought,  1 leaned  against  a walnut-tree  be- 
neath which,  since  that  day,  1 rest  every  time  that 
I revisit  my  beloved  valley.  Under  this  tree,  the  con- 
fidant of  my  thoughts,  I examine  myself  upon  the 
changes  that  I have  undergone  during  the  time  that 
has  elapsed  since  the  last  day  I left  it.  She  lived 
there,  my  heart  was  not  deceiving  me  : the  first 
castle  that  I saw  upon  the  slope  of  a plain  was  her 
dwelling.  When  I sat  under  my  walnut-tree,  the 
tiles  on  her  roof  and  the  panes  of  her  windows 
were  sparkling  in  the  noonday  sun.  Her  muslin 
gown  was  the  white  spot  that  I could  see  among  the 
vines  beneath  a peach-tree.  She  was,  as  you  al- 
ready know,  without  as  yet  knowing  anything 
further,  the  lily  of  this  valley  where  she  was  grow- 
ing for  Heaven  by  filling  it  with  the  perfume  of  her 
^virtues.  With  no  other  sustenance  than  a dimly 
seen  object  that  filled  my  soul,  I found  infinite  love 
written  in  the  long  ribbon  of  water  streaming  in  the 
sun  between  two  green  banks,  in  the  rows  of 
poplars  adorning  this  vale  of  love  with  their  flicker- 
ing lace-work,  in  the  oak-trees  rising  between  the 
vineyards  on  the  ever  changing  slopes  that  the 
3 


34 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


river  rounds  off,  and  in  the  shadowy  horizons 
shifting  athwart  each  other.  If  you  want  to  see 
nature  in  the  beauty  and  purity  of  a betrothed,  go 
there  on  a spring  day ; if  you  want  to  soothe  the 
bleeding  wounds  of  your  heart,  return  there  during 
the  last  days  of  autumn  ; there,  in  springtime,  Love, 
flutters  his  wings  in  mid  air ; there,  in  autumn,  one 
thinks  of  those  who  are  no  more.  There  the  sick 
lungs  inhale  a kindly  freshness,  the  eye  reposes 
upon  golden  tufts  that  impart  their  peaceful  sweet- 
ness to  the  soul. 

At  this  moment,  the  mills  situated  on  the  falls  of 
the  Indre,  were  giving  voice  to  this  quivering  valley, 
the  poplars  were  swaying  in  their  glee,  there  was 
not  a cloud  in  the  sky,  birds  were  singing,  grass- 
hoppers chirping,  everything  there  was  melody.  Do 
not  ask  me  again  why  1 love  Touraine  ; I do  not 
love  it  as  one  does  one’s  birthplace,  or  as  one  loves 
an  oasis  in  the  desert ; I love  it  as  an  artist  loves 
art ; I love  it  less  than  I do  you ; but,  without 
Touraine,  maybe  I should  not  live  any  longer. 
Without  knowing  why,  my  eyes  kept  returning  to  the 
white  spot,  to  the  woman  gleaming  in  this  immense 
garden  as,  amidst  green  thickets  might  flash  the 
bell  of  a convolvulus,  that  withers  at  a touch.  With 
soul  astir,  I went  down  to  the  bottom  of  this  clump, 
and  soon  saw  a village  which  the  poetry  overflow- 
ing within  me  disposed  me  to  think  incomparable. 
Imagine  three  mills  set  among  gracefully  outlined 
islands,  wreathed  with  several  clumps  of  trees  in 
the  middle  of  a meadow  of  water ; what  other  name 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


35 


can  be  given  to  those  aquatic  vegetations,  so  tena- 
cious, so  beautifully  colored,  that  cover  the  river, 
surge  above  it,  undulate  with  it,  abandon  them- 
selves to  its  caprices  and  bend  themselves  to  the 
river's  storm  as  it  is  lashed  by  the  wheel  of  the 
mills  ? Here  and  there  rise  masses  of  gravel  where 
the  water  breaks,  forming  fringes  in  which  the  sun 
glistens.  Amaryllis,  nenuphar,  water-lilies,  bul- 
rushes and  flox  deck  the  banks  with  their  gorgeous 
carpeting.  A quivering  bridge  composed  of  rotten 
planks,  the  piles  covered  with  flowers,  the  handrail 
set  with  clinging  grasses  and  velvety  mosses  hang- 
ing over  the  river  and  never  falling ; worn-out 
barges,  fishermen’s  nets,  a shepherd’s  monotonous 
chant,  the  ducks  that  were  sailing  amongst  the 
islands  or  preening  themselves  on  the  jard,  as  the 
coarse  sand  brought  by  the  Loire  is  called  ; millers’ 
boys,  their  caps  over  their  ears,  busy  loading  their 
mules  ; each  one  of  these  details  gave  wonderful 
charm  to  the  scene.  Imagine  beyond  the  bridge 
two  or  three  farms,  a dovecote,  some  turtledoves, 
about  thirty  huts  divided  by  gardens  and  by  hedges 
of  honeysuckle,  jasmine  and  clematis  ; then  rubbish 
flourished  in  front  of  all  the  doors,  some  cocks  and 
hens  in  the  paths, — such  is  Pont-de-Ruan,  a pretty 
village  crowned  by  an  old  church  full  of  character,  a 
church  of  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  and  such  as 
painters  seek  for  their  pictures.  Encircle  the  whole 
with  old  walnut-trees,  and  young  poplars  with  pale 
yellow  leaves,  put  some  graceful  buildings  in  the 
middle  of  the  distant  meadows  where  the  eye  grows 


36 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


bewildered  beneath  a hot,  misty  sky,  and  you  will 
have  an  idea  of  one  of  the  thousand  points  of  view 
of  this  beautiful  country. 

I followed  the  path  to  Sache  on  the  left  of  the 
river,  while  observing  the  details  of  the  hills  that 
adorn  the  opposite  shore.  Finally,  I came  to  a park 
of  trees,  centuries  old,  that  disclosed  the  chateau  of 
Frapesle.  I arrived  just  as  the  bell  was  ringing  for 
dejeuner.  After  the  meal,  my  host,  never  dream- 
ing that  I had  come  from  Tours  on  foot,  showed  me 
over  the  environs  of  his  estate,  whence  on  all  sides 
I saw  the  valley  under  all  its  aspects  ; here  a peep, 
and  there  the  whole  of  it ; my  eyes  were  often 
drawn  to  the  horizon  by  the  beautiful  golden  sheet 
of  the  Loire,  where,  among  the  nets,  the  sails 
appeared  to  be  fantastic  figures  which  vanished, 
swept  away  by  the  wind.  By  ascending  a ridge,  I 
was  able  for  the  first  time  to  admire  the  chateau 
d’Azay,  a diamond  cut  with  facets,  set  in  the  Indre, 
and  mounted  on  piles  hidden  in  flowers.  Then  in 
the  background  I saw  the  romantic  masses  of  the 
chateau  de  Sache,  a melancholy  abode  full  of  har- 
monies, too  serious  for  superficial  people,  dear  to 
poets  whose  hearts  are  aching.  And  so,  later  on,  I 
loved  the  silence  of  it,  the  great  hoary  trees  and 
that  indescribable  mystery  pervading  its  lonely  vale! 
But  each  time  that  1 recognized  the  tiny  castle — 
noticed  and  singled  out  at  my  first  glance — on  the 
slope  of  the  neighboring  hill,  I stopped  there  with 
delight. 

“ Eh  ! ” said  my  host,  reading  in  my  eyes  that 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


37 


eager  desire  always  so  naively  betokened  at  my  age, 
“ you  scent  a pretty  woman  from  afar  as  a dog 
smells  the  game.” 

I did  not  like  this  last  expression,  but  I asked  the 
name  of  the  castle  and  that  of  the  owner. 

“ That  is  Clochegourde,”  he  said,  “ a pretty  house 
belonging  to  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  the  representa- 
tive of  an  historic  family  of  Touraine,  whose  fortune 
dates  from  Louis  XL,  and  whose  name  indicates  the 
accident  to  which  he  owes  both  his  coat  of  arms 
and  his  celebrity.  He  descends  from  a man  who 
survived  the  gallows.  And  so  the  Mortsauf  bearings 
are  or,  a la  croix  de  sable  ale^ee,  potencie  et  contre  po- 
tencee,  chargee  encoeur  d’une  fleur  de  lys  d’ or  au  pied 
nourri  with  Dieu  saulve  le  roi  notre  sire , as  a device. 
The  count  came  to  settle  upon  this  property  upon 
the  return  of  the  emigration.  This  estate  belongs  to 
his  wife,  a demoiselle  de  Lenoncourt,  of  the  house 
of  Lenoncourt-Givry,  which  is  dying  out : Madame 
de  Mortsauf  is  the  only  daughter.  The  small  fortune 
belonging  to  this  family  is  in  such  strange  contrast 
to  the  celebrity  of  the  names,  that,  either  from  pride 
or  necessity,  they  always  remain  at  Clochegourde 
and  they  receive  nobody.  Until  now,  their  attach- 
ment to  the  Bourbons  may  have  accounted  for  their 
isolation  ; but  I doubt  if  the  King’s  return  alters  their 
way  of  living.  Upon  coming  to  settle  here,  last 
year,  I went  to  pay  them  a formal  call ; they 
returned  it  and  invited  us  to  dinner ; the  winter  has 
separated  us  for  some  months  ; and  then  political 
events  have  delayed  our  return,  for  I have  been  but 


38 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


a short  time  at  Frapesle.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  a 
woman  who  might  occupy  the  highest  place  any- 
where/’ 

“ Does  she  often  go  to  Tours  ? ” 

“ She  never  goes  there.  But,”  he  said,  correcting 
himself,  “ she  went  there  lately,  in  connection  with 
the  visit  of  the  Due  d’Angouleme,  who  showed  much 
graciousness  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf.” 

“ It  is  she  ! ” I cried. 

“ She,  who  ? ” 

“ A woman  who  has  beautiful  shoulders.” 

“You  will  meet  many  women  in  Touraine  who 
have  beautiful  shoulders,”  he  said,  laughing.  “ But, 
if  you  are  not  tired,  we  can  cross  the  river,  and  go 
up  to  Clochegourde,  where  you  will  see  whether  you 
recognize  your  shoulders.” 

I accepted,  not  without  a blush  of  delight  and 
shame.  About  four  o’clock,  we  arrived  at  the  little 
chateau  that  my  eyes  had  been  caressing  for  so  long. 
This  dwelling,  which  produces  a fine  effect  in  the 
landscape,  is  in  reality  modest.  It  has  five  windows 
in  front,  each  one  of  those  ending  the  facade  looking 
south  projects  about  four  yards,  an  architectural 
stratagem  that  gives  the  appearance  of  two  wings 
and  adds  to  the  grace  of  the  building  ; the  middle  one 
serves  as  a door,  and  leads  by  a double  flight  of 
stairs  on  to  terraced  gardens  adjoining  a narrow 
meadow  alongside  the  Indre.  Although  a public 
pathway  separates  this  field  from  the  lowest  terrace, 
which  is  shaded  by  an  alley  of  acacias  and  ailanthus, 
it  seems  to  form  part  of  the  garden  ; for  the  path  is 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


39 


sunken,  embanked  on  one  side  by  the  terrace  and 
bordered  on  the  other  by  a Normandy  hedge.  The 
well-tended  slopes  add  sufficiently  to  the  distance 
between  the  house  and  the  river  to  prevent  any  in- 
convenience from  the  vicinity  of  the  water,  without 
detracting  from  the  enjoyment  of  it.  Beneath  the 
house  are  sheds,  stables,  toolhouses,  and  kitchens,  the 
different  entrances  to  which  form  arches.  The  roof 
is  gracefully  rounded  at  the  angles,  adorned  with 
attics  with  carved  sash-bars  and  leaden  bouquets  at 
the  gable-ends.  The  roofing,  neglected  no  doubt 
during  the  Revolution,  is  covered  with  the  mildew 
produced  by  the  uniform  reddish  mosses  that  grow 
upon  houses  facing  the  south.  The  French  window 
on  the  steps  is  surmounted  by  a bell-tower  where 
there  still  remains  the  carved  escutcheon  of  the 
Blamont-Chauvrys  : ecartele  de  gueules  a un  pal  de 
vair,  flanque  de  deux  mains  appaumees  de  carnation 
et  d’ or  a deux  lances  de  sable  mises  en  chevron.  I 
was  deeply  struck  by  the  device : Voye^  tous, 
nul  ne  touche  ! The  supporters,  which  are  a griffin 
and  dragon  gules  enchained  with  or,  produced  a fine 
effect  sculptured.  The  Revolution  had  injured  the 
ducal  coronet  and  crest,  which  consists  of  a sinople 
palm  fructed  in  or.  Senart,  Secretary  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety,  was  bailiff  of  Sache  before 
1781,  which  accounts  for  these  ravages. 

These  arrangements  give  an  air  of  elegance  to 
this  castle,  wrought  like  a flower  that  scarcely  seems 
to  weigh  upon  the  ground.  Seen  from  the  valley, 
the  ground-floor  appears  to  be  on  the  first  story,  but 


40 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


on  the  side  of  the  courtyard  it  is  level  with  a wide 
gravel  path  leading  on  to  a lawn  bright  with  flower- 
beds. To  right  and  left,  the  vineyards,  orchards 
and  a few  patches  of  arable  land  planted  with 
walnut-trees,  slope  steeply,  surrounding  the  house 
with  their  foliage,  and  reaching  to  the  shores  of  the 
Indre,  lined  at  this  point  with  clumps  of  trees,  the 
green  of  which  nature  herself  has  variegated.  While 
climbing  the  path  that  skirts  Clochegourde,  I was 
admiring  these  well  arranged  masses,  and  breathing 
an  air  laden  with  happiness.  Has  then  the  moral 
nature,  like  the  physical  nature,  its  electric  com- 
munications and  its  rapid  changes  of  temperature  ? 
My  heart  was  beating  at  the  approach  of  secret 
events  that  were  to  affect  it  forever,  like  animals 
making  merry  in  expectation  of  fine  weather.  This 
day,  so  memorable  a one  of  my  life,  was  not  lacking 
in  any  of  the  circumstances  that  could  solemnize  it. 
Nature  was  adorned  like  a woman  going  to  meet  the 
beloved,  my  soul  for  the  first  time  had  heard  her 
voice,  my  eyes  had  admired  her  as  fertile,  as  varied 
as  my  imagination  had  pictured  her  in  those  dreams 
at  college,  of  which  I have  told  you  in  a few  words 
that  are  powerless  to  explain  their  influence  to  you, 
for  they  have  been,  as  it  were,  an  Apocalypse  in 
which  my  life  was  figuratively  foretold  to  me  : every 
happy  or  unhappy  incident  is  connected  with  it  by 
strange  images,  links  visible  to  the  eyes  of  the  mind 
alone. 

We  crossed  an  outer  yard  surrounded  with  build- 
ings necessary  to  rural  occupations,  a barn,  wine- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


41 


press,  cow-houses  and  stables.  Warned  by  the 
barking  of  a watch-dog,  a servant  came  out  to  meet 
us,  and  told  us  that  Monsieur  le  Comte,  having  been 
away  at  Azay  since  the  morning,  would  no  doubt  be 
returning,  and  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  at 
home.  My  host  looked  at  me.  1 trembled  lest  he 
should  not  wish  to  see  Madame  de  Mortsauf  in  the 
absence  of  her  husband,  but  he  told  the  servant  to 
announce  us.  Impelled  by  a childish  eagerness,  I 
rushed  into  the  long  anteroom  that  runs  through  the 
house. 

“ Pray  come  in,  messieurs  ! ” then  said  a golden 
voice. 

Although  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  uttered  but  one 
word  at  the  ball,  I recognized  her  voice,  which  pene- 
trated my  soul  and  flooded  it  as  a ray  of  sunlight 
fills  and  gilds  a prisoner’s  cell.  At  the  thought  that 
she  might  remember  my  face,  I longed  to  make 
my  escape  ; there  was  not  time,  she  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  our  eyes  met.  I do  not  know  which 
blushed  the  more,  she  or  I.  Sufficiently  taken 
aback  to  be  unable  to  speak,  she  returned  to  her 
seat  in  front  of  the  tapestry  frame,  after  the  servant 
had  drawn  forward  two  armchairs ; she  finished 
pulling  out  her  needle  in  order  to  give  an  excuse  for 
her  silence,  counted  two  or  three  stitches  and  raised 
her  head,  alike  gentle  and  haughty,  towards  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel,  while  asking  him  to  what  happy 
chance  she  owed  his  visit.  Although  eager  to  learn 
the  truth  about  my  appearance,  she  looked  at 
neither  of  us  ; her  eyes  were  constantly  riveted  upon 


42 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  river ; but,  from  the  manner  in  which  she  was 
listening,  you  would  have  said  that,  like  the  blind, 
she  could  tell  the  workings  of  the  mind  in  the  im- 
perceptible tones  of  the  voice.  And  such  was  the 
case.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  mentioned  my  name 
and  told  my  biography.  It  was  some  months  since 
I had  arrived  in  Tours,  to  which  place  my  parents 
had  brought  me  home  when  Paris  was  threatened 
with  war.  A native  of  Touraine,  to  whom  Tour- 
aine  was  unknown,  she  beheld  in  me  a young  man 
debilitated  by  excessive  study,  sent  to  Frapesle  as  a 
diversion,  whom  Monsieur  de  Chessel  had  shown 
over  his  estate,  which  I was  visiting  for  the  first 
time.  At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  only,  had  I told  him 
of  my  walk  from  Tours  to  Frapesle,  and  fearing 
for  my  already  enfeebled  health,  he  had  bethought 
himself  of  dropping  in  at  Clochegourde  thinking 
that  Madame  de  Mortsauf  would  allow  me  to 
rest  there.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  was  telling  the 
truth,  but  a lucky  chance  seems  so  far  fetched,  that 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  entertained  some  suspicion  ; 
she  looked  at  me  with  cold,  stern  eyes  that  made 
me  drop  my  lids,  as  much  through  I know  not  what 
feeling  of  humiliation  as  to  hide  the  tears  that  I kept 
back  between  my  lashes.  The  stately  chatelaine 
saw  the  perspiration  on  my  forehead  ; she  may  also 
have  guessed  at  the  tears,  for  she  offered  me  all  that 
I might  require,  at  the  same  time  expressing  a con- 
soling kindness  which  restored  my  power  of  speech. 
I was  blushing  like  a guilty  girl,  and,  in  the  tremulous 
voice  of  an  old  man,  I thanked  her  in  the  negative. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


43 


“ All  that  I wish/’  I said,  raising  my  eyes  to 
hers  which  I met  for  the  second  time,  but  only  for 
an  instant  like  a flash  of  lightning,  “ is  not  to  be 
sent  away  from  here  ; I am  so  numb  with  fatigue 
that  I could  not  walk.” 

“ Why  do  you  suspect  the  hospitality  of  our  beau- 
tiful country  ? ” she  said,  “you  will  doubtless  give 
us  the  pleasure  of  dining  at  Clochegourde  ? ” she 
added,  turning  to  her  neighbor. 

I gave  my  patron  a look  in  which  shone  so  much 
entreaty  that  he  arranged  to  accept  this  proposal, 
the  formula  of  which  required  a refusal.  If  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  enabled  Monsieur  de  Chessel  to 
recognize  such  distinctions,  a young  man  without 
experience  believes  so  firmly  in  the  union  between 
speech  and  thought  in  a beautiful  woman,  that  I was 
very  much  astonished  when,  on  our  way  home  in 
the  evening,  my  host  said  : 

“ I stayed,  because  you  were  dying  to  ; but,  if 
you  do  not  set  things  right,  I may  fall  out  with  my 
neighbors.” 

This  if  you  do  not  set  things  right  made  me  thought- 
ful for  a long  time.  If  I pleased  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  she  could  not  bear  ill-will  to  the  person  who 
had  brought  me  into  her  house.  Then  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  credited  me  with  power  to  interest  her  ; was 
not  that  enough  to  inspire  me  with  it  ? This  ex- 
planation corroborated  my  hope  at  a time  when  I 
had  need  of  succor. 

“It  seems  difficult,”  he  replied,  “Madame  de 
Chessel  expects  us.” 


44 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ She  has  you  every  day,”  rejoined  the  countess, 
“ and  we  can  let  her  know.  Is  she  alone  ? ” 

“ She  has  Monsieur  l’Abbe  de  Quelus.” 

“Well,  then,”  she  said,  rising  to  ring  the  bell, 
“ you  will  dine  with  us.” 

This  time,  Monsieur  de  Chessel  believed  her  to  be 
sincere  and  gave  me  a congratulatory  look.  As  soon 
as  I was  sure  of  remaining  for  an  evening  under  this 
roof,  I enjoyed  as  it  were  an  eternity.  To  many 
unhappy  beings,  to-morrow  is  a word  without  mean- 
ing, and  I was  then  numbered  amongst  those  who 
have  no  kind  of  faith  in  the  morrow ; when  I had  a 
few  hours  of  my  own,  I revelled  in  a whole  life- 
time of  delight.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  began  about 
the  country,  the  crops  and  the  vines,  conversation 
which  was  unfamiliar  to  me. 

In  a mistress  of  the  house,  this  behavior  attests 
either  a lack  of  breeding  or  her  contempt  for  the 
person  whom  she  thus  shuts  out,  as  it  were,  from 
the  conversation  ; but  with  the  countess  it  was  em- 
barrassment. If  at  first  I thought  she  was  aiming 
at  treating  me  as  a child,  if  I envied  the  privilege  of 
men  of  thirty  which  enabled  Monsieur  de  Chessel  to 
converse  with  his  neighbor  on  serious  subjects  that  I 
did  not  understand,  if  I sulked  in  telling  myself  that 
all  was  for  him  ; some  months  after  that  I knew 
how  significant  is  a woman’s  silence,  and  how  many 
thoughts  lie  beneath  a general  conversation.  First 
of  all,  I tried  to  settle  myself  comfortably  in  my 
armchair ; then  I recognized  the  advantages  of  m'y 
position  while  yielding  to  the  charm  of  listening  to  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


45 


countess’s  voice.  The  inspiration  of  her  mind  showed 
itself  in  the  recoil  of  the  syllables,  just  as  sound  is 
divided  by  the  keys  of  a flute  ; it  died  away  rippling 
in  the  ear  whence  it  quickened  the  action  of  the 
blood.  Her  way  of  saying  the  terminations  in  i 
made  one  fancy  it  to  be  some  song  of  a bird  ; the  ch 
as  pronounced  by  her  was  a caress,  and  the  manner 
in  which  she  attacked  the  t’s  implied  the  despotism 
of  the  heart.  In  this  way,  she  unconsciously  ex- 
panded the  meaning  of  words,  and  led  one’s  mind 
into  a superhuman  world.  How  many  times  have  I 
not  let  her  continue  some  discussion  that  I might 
have  ended  ! how  many  times  have  I not  brought 
upon  myself  an  unmerited  scolding  so  as  to  listen  to 
these  strains  of  the  human  voice,  to  breathe  the 
melody  that  issued  from  her  soulful  lips,  to  embrace 
that  expressive  intellect  with  the  same  passion  that 
I should  have  shown  in  pressing  the  countess  to 
my  breast ! How  like  the  joyous  song  of  a swallow 
when  she  could  laugh  ! but  how  like  the  voice  of  the 
swan  calling  to  its  mates  when  she  spoke  about  her 
sorrows  ! 

The  countess’s  inattention  enabled  me  to  examine 
her.  My  eye  feasted  itself  as  it  glanced  over  the 
beautiful  speaker,  it  encircled  her  waist,  kissed  her 
feet,  and  sported  amid  the  curls  of  her  hair.  And 
yet,  I was  a prey  to  such  terror  as  will  be  understood 
by  those  who,  at  some  time  in  their  life,  have  ex- 
perienced the  boundless  joys  of  a genuine  passion. 
1 was  afraid  lest  she  should  catch  my  eyes  riveted 
upon  the  place  on  her  shoulders  that  I had  embraced 


46 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


so  ardently.  This  dread  revived  the  temptation, 
and  I succumbed,  I looked  at  them  ! my  eye  rent 
the  material,  again  I saw  the  freckle  that  marked 
the  rise  of  the  pretty  line  which  divided  her  back, 
like  a fly  lost  in  milk,  which,  ever  since  the  ball, 
always  glowed  at  night  in  those  shades  in  which 
young  men  of  intense  imagination  and  purity  of  life 
wander  in  their  dreams. 

I can  sketch  you  the  chief  features  which  would 
everywhere  have  attracted  attention  to  the  countess  ; 
but  the  most  correct  drawing,  the  most  glowing 
coloring  would  still  convey  nothing.  Her  face  was 
one  of  those  whose  likeness  requires  the  undiscover- 
able  artist  who  knows  how  to  paint  the  reflex  of  in- 
ward fires,  and  how  to  reproduce  that  luminous 
vapor  denied  by  science,  which  words  cannot  inter- 
pret, but  which  is  visible  to  a lover.  Her  fine,  ashen 
hair  often  gave  her  pain,  and  these  sufferings  were 
doubtless  caused  by  the  sudden  returns  of  the 
blood  to  the  head.  Her  rounded  forehead,  protu- 
berant like  that  of  la  Joconde , seemed  to  be  full 
of  unspoken  thoughts,  repressed  feelings,  flowers 
drowned  in  the  waters  of  bitterness.  Her  greenish 
eyes,  dotted  with  brown,  were  always  pale  ; but,  if 
it  were  a question  of  her  children,  if  any  animated 
outpourings  of  joy  or  sorrow,  unusual  in  the  life  of 
submissive  women,  ever  escaped  her,  her  eye 
would  then  flash  with  a subtle  light  that  seemed  as 
if  it  were  kindled  at  the  well-springs  of  life  and  were 
bound  to  exhaust  them  ; lightning  which  had  wrqng 
tears  from  me  when  she  overwhelmed  me  with  her 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


47 


terrible  scorn  and  with  which  she  was  able  to  abash 
the  boldest  lids.  A Greek  nose,  like  those  drawn 
by  Phidias,  connected  by  a double  curve  with  grace- 
fully sinuous  lips,  spiritualized  her  oval-shaped 
face,  the  complexion  of  which,  comparable  to  the 
tissue  of  white  camellias,  deepened  on  the  cheeks 
into  pretty  pink  tints.  Her  embonpoint  destroyed 
neither  the  grace  of  her  figure  nor  the  fulness  re- 
quired for  the  endurance  of  her  beautiful,  although 
developed  shape.  You  will  immediately  understand 
the  kind  of  perfection,  when  you  know  that,  in 
joining  the  fore-arm,  the  dazzling  treasures  which 
had  fascinated  me  showed  no  signs  of  any  crease. 
The  base  of  her  head  presented  none  of  those 
hollows  which  cause  the  nape  of  some  women  to 
resemble  the  trunks  of  trees,  her  muscles  formed  no 
cords  and  the  lines  were  everywhere  rounded  off  in 
flexuosities  as  distracting  to  the  eye  as  to  the  brush. 
A soft  down  died  away  along  her  cheeks  and  in  the 
curves  of  her  neck,  retaining  the  light  and  turning 
it  into  silk.  Her  small,  well-shaped  ears,  according 
to  her  own  expression,  were  those  of  a slave  and 
a mother.  Later  on,  when  I dwelt  in  her  heart, 
she  would  say  : “ Here  is  Monsieur  de  Mort- 

sauf ! ” and  would  prove  to  be  right,  whilst  I could 
as  yet  hear  nothing,  I who  possessed  a remarkable 
range  of  hearing.  Her  arms  were  beautiful,  her 
hand  was  long,  with  fingers  curving  backwards,  and, 
as  in  antique  statues,  the  flesh  came  beyond  her 
delicately  ribbed  nails. 

I should  offend  you  by  giving  the  preference  to  flat 


48 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


instead  of  round  waists,  if  you  were  not  an  excep- 
tion. The  round  waist  is  a sign  of  strength,  but 
women  so  constructed  are  imperious  and  self-willed, 
more  voluptuous  than  tender.  On  the  other  hand, 
women  with  flat  waists  are  unselfish,  full  of  delicacy, 
apt  to  be  melancholy  ; they  make  better  wives  than 
the  others.  The  flat  waist  is  pliant  and  soft,  the 
round  waist  is  inflexible  and  jealous.  Now  you 
know  how  she  was  made.  She  had  the  foot  of  a 
well-bred  woman,  the  foot  that  walks  little,  quickly 
tires  and  rejoices  the  eye  when  it  peeps  beyond  the 
dress.  - 

Although  she  was  the  mother  of  two  children,  I 
never  met  anyone  of  her  sex  who  was  more  girlish 
than  she.  Her  countenance  was  expressive  of  a 
versatility,  combined  with  something  indescribably 
bewildering  and  dreamy  which  attracted  one  to  her 
as  the  painter  draws  us  to  the  face  in  which  his 
genius  has  conveyed  a world  of  feeling.  Her  visible 
qualities,  however,  can  only  be  described  by  simile. 
Think  of  the  pure,  wild  scent  of  the  heather  that  we 
picked  on  our  way  back  from  the  villa  Diodati,  the 
pink  and  black  color  of  which  you  praised  so  much, 
and  you  will  understand  how  it  was  that  this  woman 
could  be  elegant,  remote  from  the  world,  unaffected 
in  her  expressions,  refined  in  the  things  that  became 
her  own,  both  black  and  pink.  Her  body  possessed 
the  vigor  that  we  admire  in  newly  unfurled  leaves, 
her  intellect  the  penetrating  conciseness  of  a savage  ; 
She  was  childish  through  feeling,  serious  through 
suffering,  matronly  and  maidenly.  And  so  she  was 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


49 


guilelessly  pleasing,  in  her  manner  of  sitting  down,  of 
rising,  of  remaining  silent  or  of  putting  in  a remark. 
Usually  collected,  attentive  as  the  sentinel  upon 
whom  the  welfare  of  all  depends  and  who  watches 
for  disaster,  she  sometimes  broke  into  smiles  that 
revealed  the  naturally  merry  person  buried  beneath 
the  demeanor  exacted  by  her  way  of  living.  Her 
coquetry  was  born  of  mystery,  she  aroused  wonder 
instead  of  inspiring  the  gallantries  solicited  by 
women,  and  showed  the  vivid  flame  of  her  early 
nature,  her  early  wonderful  dreams  as  one  sees  the 
sky  through  the  break  in  the  clouds.  This  involun- 
tary revelation  made  those  thoughtful  who  did  not 
feel  an  inward  tear  dried  up  by  the  heat  of  desire. 
The  rarity  of  her  gestures  and  especially  of  her  looks 
— with  the  exception  of  her  children,  she  looked  at  no 
one — gave  an  incredible  solemnity  to  all  that  she  did 
and  said,  when  she  did  or  said  a thing  with  that  air 
that  women  can  assume  at  a time  when  they  are 
compromising  their  dignity  by  an  avowal. 

That  day,  Madame  de  Mortsauf  wore  a striped 
pink  dress,  a wide-hemmed  collar,  a black  sash  and 
boots  to  match.  Her  hair,  plainly  twisted  on  her 
head,  was  upheld  by  a tortoise-shell  comb.  Such  is 
the  imperfect  sketch  that  1 promised.  But  the 
constant  emanation  of  her  spirit  upon  her  own 
people,  that  nourishing  essence  outpoured  in  tor- 
rents as  the  sun  emits  its  light ; her  secret  nature, 
her  attitude  in  hours  of  serenity,  her  resignation  in 
hours  of  gloom  ; all  those  eddies  in  which  the  char- 
acter is  shown,  depend,  like  sky  effects,  upon  un- 
4 


50 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


expected  and  transient  circumstances  which  are  in  no 
way  alike  except  as  to  the  background  whence  they 
detach  themselves,  the  description  of  which  will  ne- 
cessarily be  involved  in  the  incidents  of  this  story ; 
a real  domestic  epic  poem,  as  great  in  the  eyes  of 
the  sage  as  are  tragedies  in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd, 
and  the  recital  of  which  will  interest  you  as  much 
from  the  share  I took  in  it  as  for  its  similitude  to  a 
great  many  feminine  destinies. 


Everything  at  Clochegourde  bore  the  stamp  of  a 
truly  English  cleanliness.  The  salon  in  which  the 
countess  sat  was  entirely  wainscoted,  and  painted 
in  two  shades  of  gray.  The  mantelpiece  was  or- 
namented with  a time-piece  set  in  a block  of  maho- 
gany surmounted  by  a goblet,  and  with  two  big 
white  china  vases  with  threads  of  gold,  in  which 
was  standing  some  Cape  heather.  A lamp  was  on 
the  console.  There  was  a backgammon  table  op- 
posite the  fireplace.  Two  wide  cotton  holders  held 
back  the  fringeless  white  cambric  curtains.  The 
chairs  were  protected  by  gray  covers,  bordered  with 
green  galloon,  and  the  work  stretched  on  the 
countess’s  frame  was  enough  to  suggest  the  reason 
for  hiding  her  furniture  in  this  way.  This  simplicity 
amounted  to  grandeur.  No  room,  among  those  that 
I have  since  seen,  has  produced  upon  me  such  fruit- 
ful, manifold  impressions  as  those  which  overcame 
me  in  that  salon  of  Clochegourde,  calm  and  collected 
as  the  life  of  the  countess,  and  from  which  one 
could  picture  the  cloister-like  regularity  of  her  occu- 
pations. Most  of  my  ideas,  and  even  the  most 
daring  in  science  and  politics,  originated  there,  just 

(51) 


52 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


as  perfume  emanates  from  flowers ; but  there 
bloomed  the  mysterious  plant  which  cast  its  preg- 
nant pollen  upon  my  soul,  there  shone  the  solar 
warmth  which  developed  my  good  and  withered  my 
bad  qualities.  From  the  window,  the  eye  encom- 
passed the  valley  from  the  hill  where  stretches 
Pont-de-Ruan,  as  far  as  the  chateau  d’Azay,  by  fol- 
lowing the  windings  of  the  opposite  hill  diversified 
by  the  towers  of  Frapesle,  then  the  church,  the 
borough  and  the  old  manor  of  Sache,  which  pile 
overlooks  the  meadow.  These  scenes,  in  harmony 
with  this  reposeful  life  and  with  no  other  disturb- 
ances than  those  caused  by  the  family,  imparted 
their  serenity  to  the  soul.  Had  I met  her  there  for 
the  first  time,  between  the  count  and  her  two  chil- 
dren, instead  of  finding  her  resplendent  in  her  ball- 
gown, I should  not  have  ravished  her  by  that  de- 
lirious kiss  which  I then  regretted  in  thinking  that 
it  might  destroy  the  future  of  my  love  ! No,  in  the 
melancholy  moods  into  which  I was  plunged  by 
misery,  I should  have  knelt  down,  kissed  her  slip- 
per, dropped  a few  tears  upon  it,  and  then  have 
thrown  myself  into  the  Indre. 

But,  after  having  touched  the  cool  jasmin  of  her 
skin  and  drunk  the  milk  of  this  love-filled  cup,  I had 
the  taste  and  hope  of  human  delights  in  my  mind  ; I 
wanted  to  live  and  await  the  hour  of  pleasure,  as 
the  savage  watches  for  the  hour  of  vengeance ; I 
wanted  to  hang  in  the  trees,  creep  among  the  vines, 
crouch  in  the  Indre  ; for  accomplices  I wanted  the 
silence  of  night,  the  languor  of  life,  the  heat  of  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


53 


sun,  in  order  to  finish  the  delicious  apple  into  which 
1 had  already  bitten.  Had  she  asked  me  for  the 
flower  that  sings  or  for  the  treasures  buried  by  the 
companions  of  Morgan  the  destroyer,  I would  have 
brought  them  to  her  so  as  to  obtain  the  certain 
riches  and  the  silent  flower  for  which  I longed  ! At 
the  end  of  the  dream  into  which  I had  been  plunged 
by  contemplation  of  my  idol  and  during  which  a 
servant  came  and  spoke  to  her,  I heard  her  talking 
of  the  count.  It  was  only  then  that  I reflected  that 
a wife  must  belong  to  her  husband.  I turned  giddy 
at  the  thought.  Then  I felt  a passionate  and  gloomy 
curiosity  to  see  the  owner  of  this  treasure.  I was 
swayed  by  two  feelings,  hatred  and  fear ; a hatred 
that  recognized  no  obstacle  and  gauged  them  all 
without  anxiety ; and  a vague  but  real  fear  of  the 
contest,  of  its  issue  and  of  her  above  all.  A prey  to 
indescribable  feelings,  I dreaded  those  dishonoring 
shakes  of  the  hand,  I already  foresaw  those  elastic 
scruples  with  which  the  fiercest  wills  clash  and 
against  which  they  become  blunted ; I feared  that 
passive  resistance  which  now-a-days  deprives  social 
life  of  the  catastrophes  courted  by  impassioned 
persons. 

“ Here  is  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,”  she  said. 

I started  to  my  feet  like  a frightened  horse. 
Although  this  movement  escaped  neither  Monseiur 
de  Chessel  nor  the  countess  it  procured  me  no  silent 
hint,  for  a diversion  was  caused  by  a little  girl  whom 
I should  have  taken  to  be  six  years  old,  and  who 
was  saying  as  she  came  in  : 


54 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


" Here  is  father.” 

“ Well,  Madeleine  ? ” said  her  mother. 

The  child  held  out  to  Monsieur  de  Chessel  the 
hand  he  was  waiting  for,  and  she  looked  at  me  very 
attentively  after  having  given  me  her  little  curtsey 
full  of  astonishment. 

“ Are  you  satisfied  with  her  health  ? ” said  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  to  the  countess. 

“ She  is  better,”  she  replied,  stroking  the  hair  of 
the  little  one  who  was  already  cuddled  in  her  lap. 

A question  put  by  Monsieur  de  Chessel  informed 
me  tha't  Madeleine  was  nine  ; I showed  some  surprise 
at  my  mistake,  and  my  astonishment  brought  a cloud 
to  the  mother’s  brow.  My  introducer  threw  me  one 
of  those  meaning  glances  with  which  society  people 
give  us  a second  education.  There,  no  doubt,  was 
a maternal  sore,  the  dressing  of  which  was  to  be 
spared.  A sickly  child  with  pale  eyes  and  a skin  as 
white  as  porcelain  under  a light,  Madeleine  would 
doubtless  never  have  survived  in  the  atmosphere  of 
a town.  Country  air,  and  the  care  of  her  mother 
who  seemed  as  if  she  were  brooding  over  her,  kept 
life  in  this  body  which  was  as  delicate  as  a plant 
grown  in  a hothouse  in  spite  of  the  inclemency  of  a 
foreign  climate.  Although  she  in  no  way  recalled 
her  mother,  Madeleine  seemed  to  have  her  soul,  and 
that  soul  sustained  her.  Her  scanty  black  hair,  her 
hollow  eyes,  her  sunken  cheeks,  her  wasted  arms, 
and  her  narrow  chest  told  of  a struggle  between  life 
and  death,  a ceaseless  duel  in  which  till  now  the 
countess  had  been  victorious.  She  forced  herself  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


55 


be  lively,  no  doubt  in  order  to  spare  her  mother 
pain  ; for,  at  certain  moments  when  she  was  not  on 
her  guard,  she  assumed  the  attitude  of  a weeping 
willow.  You  would  have  said  she  was  a little  gypsy 
suffering  from  hunger,  come  from  her  home  as  a 
beggar,  exhausted,  but  brave  and  ready  for  her 
public. 

“ Where  have  you  left  Jacques,  then  ? ” asked 
her  mother,  kissing  her  on  the  white  line  that  parted 
her  hair  into  two  bands  like  a raven’s  wings. 

“ He  is  coming  with  father.” 

Just  then,  the  count  came  in  followed  by  his  son 
whom  he  was  holding  by  the  hand.  Jacques,  the 
living  image  of  his  sister,  presented  the  same  symp- 
toms of  feebleness.  Seeing  these  two  frail  children 
beside  such  a gloriously  beautiful  mother,  it  was 
impossible  not  to  guess  at  the  sources  of  the  sorrow 
that  softened  the  countess’s  temples  and  caused  her 
to  suppress  one  of  those  thoughts  that  are  only  con- 
fided to  God,  but  which  impart  a terrible  significance 
to  the  brow.  In  greeting  me,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
glanced  at  me,  not  so  much  observantly  as  with  the 
awkward  uneasiness  of  a man  whose  mistrust  arises 
from  his  want  of  practice  in  managing  analysis. 
After  having  informed  him  of  the  situation  and 
having  mentioned  my  name,  his  wife  yielded  her 
place  to  him  and  left  us.  The  children,  whose  eyes 
followed  their  mother’s  as  if  they  derived  their  light 
from  them,  wanted  to  go  with  her,  she  said:  “ Stay 
here,  dear  loves!”  and  put  her  finger  to  her  lips. 
They  obeyed,  but  their  faces  clouded.  Ah  ! to  hear 


56 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


applied  to  one  that  word  dear,  what  tasks  would  one 
not  have  undertaken  ? Like  the  children,  I felt  less 
warm  when  she  was  not  there.  My  name  changed 
the  count’s  disposition  toward  me.  From  being 
cold  and  supercilious,  he  became,. if  not  affectionate, 
at  least  politely  cordial,  showed  me  tokens  of  con- 
sideration, and  appeared  delighted  at  receiving  me. 
In  days  gone  by,  my  father  had  risked  his  life  for 
our  rulers  by  playing  a great,  but  obscure  rSle  ; full 
of  danger,  but  one  that  might  be  efficacious.  When 
all  was  lost  by  the  accession  of  Napoleon  to  the  head 
of  affairs,  like  many  secret  conspirators,  he  took 
refuge  in  the  pleasures  of  provincial  and  private  life, 
while  submitting  to  accusations  that  were  as  harsh 
as  they  were  undeserved  ; the  inevitable  reward  of 
gamblers  who  stake  their  all,  and  succumb  after 
having  served  as  a pivot  for  political  intrigue. 
Knowing  nothing  of  the  fortune,  the  antecedents  or 
the  prospects  of  my  family,  I was  equally  ignorant 
of  the  circumstances  of  that  lost  career  that  the 
Comte  de  Mortsauf  remembered.  Meanwhile,  though 
antiquity  of  name,  the  most  precious  quality  a man 
could  have  in  his  eyes,  might  account  for  the  recep- 
tion which  confused  me,  I did  not  learn  the  real 
reason  until  later.  At  the  time,  this  sudden  tran- 
sition put  me  at  my  ease.  When  the  two  children 
saw  the  conversation  resumed  among  us  three, 
Madeleine  withdrew  her  head  from  her  father’s 
hands,  looked  at  the  open  door,  slipped  out  like  an  eel, 
followed  by  Jacques.  They  both  rejoined  thejr 
mother,  for  I heard  their  voices  and  movements, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  5 7 

sounding,  in  the  distance,  like  the  humming  of  bees 
round  the  beloved  hive. 

I contemplated  the  count  in  an  endeavor  to  guess 
at  his  character ; but  I was  sufficiently  interested  in 
several  chief  features  to  dwell  upon  the  superficial 
examination  of  his  physiognomy.  Only  forty-five 
years  old,  he  seemed  to  be  nearer  sixty,  so  quickly 
had  he  aged  in  the  great  wreck  which  closed  the 
XVIIIth  century.  The  semi-circle  of  hair  which 
monastically  enwreathed  the  back  of  his  bald  head, 
died  away  at  the  ears,  caressing  the  temples  with 
gray  tufts  streaked  with  black.  His  face  bore  a 
vague  resemblance  to  that  of  a white  wolf  whose 
muzzle  is  smeared  with  blood,  for  his  nose  was  in- 
flamed like  that  of  a man  whose  life  is  impaired  in 
its  elements,  whose  stomach  is  enfeebled,  whose 
moods  are  vitiated  by  past  illnesses.  His  flat  fore- 
head, too  wide  for  his  face  which  terminated  in  a 
point,  transversely  wrinkled  in  irregular  gradations, 
bespoke  the  habits  of  an  outdoor  life,  and  not  the 
fatigues  of  intellect,  the  weight  of  invariable  mis- 
fortune and  not  the  efforts  made  to  surmount  it. 
His  cheekbones,  projecting  and  dark  in  the  midst  of 
the  pale  tint  of  his  complexion,  indicated  a frame 
strong  enough  to  insure  him  a long  life.  His  limpid 
eye,  yellow  and  hard,  fell  upon  one  like  a ray  of 
winter  sunshine,  luminous  without  warmth,  anxious 
without  thought,  suspicious  without  reason.  His 
mouth  was  violent  and  imperious,  his  chin  straight 
and  long.  Thin  and  tall,  he  bore  the  demeanor  of 
a nobleman  relying  upon  a conventional  importance, 


58 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


who  knows  himself  to  be  above  others  by  right,  be- 
neath others  in  reality.  The  unconstraint  of  the 
country  had  led  him  to  neglect  his  outward  appear- 
ance. His  clothes  were  those  of  the  farmer  whom 
the  peasants,  as  well  as  the  neighbors,  no  longer 
take  into  account  save  for  his  territorial  income. 
His  brown,  nervous  hands  showed  that  he  never 
wore  gloves  except  when  riding  or  on  Sundays  go- 
ing to  mass.  His  boots  were  clumsy.  Although 
the  ten  years  of  emigration  and  the  ten  years’  farm- 
ing had  had  an  influence  upon  his  physique,  he  still 
possessed  traces  of  nobility.  The  most  malignant 
liberal,  a word  not  then  coined,  would  easily  have 
recognized  in  him  the  chivalrous  loyalty,  the  incor- 
ruptible convictions  of  a persistent  reader  of  La 
Quotidienne.  He  would  have  admired  in  him  the 
religious  man,  passionately  devoted  to  his  cause, 
unreserved  in  his  political  antipathies,  incapable  of 
serving  his  party  personally,  quite  capable  of  ruin- 
ing it,  and  ignorant  of  state  matters  in  France.  In 
fact,  the  count  was  one  of  those  upright  men  who 
adapt  themselves  to  nothing  and  obstinately  obstruct 
everything,  ready  to-  die  fighting  at  the  post  as- 
signed to  them,  but  miserly  enough  to  sacrifice  their 
lives  rather  than  give  their  money. 

During  dinner,  I remarked,  in  the  depression  of 
his  withered  cheeks  and  in  certain  looks  secretly 
bent  upon  his  children,  traces  of  vexatious  thoughts 
the  outbursts  of  which  died  away  upon  the  surface. 
Seeing  him,  who  is  there  that  would  not  have  un- 
derstood him  ? Who  would  not  have  taxed  him 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


59 


with  having  fatally  transmitted  to  his  children  those 
lifeless  bodies?  If  he  reproached  himself,  he  denied 
to  others  the  right  to  judge  him.  With  all  the  bit- 
terness of  a power  that  knows  itself  to  be  at  fault, 
but  without  sufficient  grandeur  or  charm  to  com- 
pensate for  the  sum  of  misery  that  he  had  thrown 
into  the  scales,  his  private  life  must  have  presented 
the  asperities  betrayed  in  his  sharp  features  and  in- 
cessantly restless  eyes.  When  his  wife  came  back, 
followed  by  the  two  children  clinging  to  her  side,  I 
then  suspected  some  sorrow,  just  as  when  walking 
over  the  vaults  of  a cellar,  the  feet  are  in  some  sort 
conscious  of  depth.  At  sight  of  these  four  persons 
together,  while  encircling  them  with  my  glances, 
going  from  one  to  the  other,  studying  their  faces 
and  their  respective  attitudes,  thoughts  steeped  in 
melancholy  fell  upon  my  heart  just  as  a fine  gray 
rain  enshrouds  a lovely  country  after  some  beauti- 
ful dawn.  When  the  topic  of  conversation  was 
exhausted,  the  count,  at  the  expense  of  Monsieur  de 
Chessel,  again  brought  me  to  the  fore  by  informing 
his  wife  of  several  circumstances  concerning  my 
family  that  were  unknown  to  me.  He  asked  me 
how  old  I was.  When  I told  him,  the  countess  re- 
paid me  with  the  same  movement  of  surprise  that  I 
had  shown  about  her  little  girl.  Perhaps  she  took 
me  for  fourteen.  It  was,  as  I afterward  knew,  the 
second  link  that  bound  her  so  closely  to  me.  I read 
her  soul.  Her  maternity  thrilled,  lighted  by  a tardy 
ray  of  sunshine  that  gave  her  hope.  Seeing  me, 
past  twenty,  so  puny  and  delicate  and  withal  so 


6o 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


vigorous,  a voice  may  have  cried  within  her  “ They 
will  live  ! ” She  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  I felt 
that  at  that  moment  much  of  the  ice  between  us 
was  melting.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  a thousand 
questions  to  ask  me  and  were  reserving  them  all. 

“ If  study  has  made  you  ill,”  she  said,  “ the  air  of 
our  valley  will  restore  you.” 

“ Modern  education  is  fatal  to  children,”  continued 
the  count,  “ we  cram  them  with  mathematics,  kill 
them  with  science,  and  exhaust  them  before  the 
time.  You  must  rest  here,”  he  said  to  me,  “you 
are  crushed  beneath  the  avalanche  of  ideas  that  has 
rolled  over  you.  What  times  this  universal  educa- 
tion will  bring  upon  us  unless  the  evil  is  prevented 
by  restoring  public  instruction  to  the  religious  corpo- 
rations ! ” 

These  words  were  characteristic  forerunners  of 
the  remark  he  made  one  day  at  the  elections  while 
refusing  his  vote  for  a man  whose  talents  might  be 
of  use  to  the  royalist  cause:  “I  should  always 
mistrust  clever  people,”  he  replied  to  the  agent  for 
electoral  votes.  He  suggested  that  we  should  take  a 
turn  in  the  garden,  and  rose. 

“ Monsieur ” said  the  countess. 

“Well,  my  dear?”  he  replied,  turning  with  a 
haughty  abruptness  which  showed  how  much  he 
tried  to  be  the  autocrat  at  home,  but  how  little  he 
succeeded. 

“ Monsieur  has  walked  from  Tours  ; Monsieur  de 
Chessel  knew  nothing  about  it  and  walked  him 
about  Frapesle.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  6l 

“ You  were  imprudent/’  he  said  to  me,  “ although 
at  your  age — ” 

And  he  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

Conversation  was  resumed.  It  was  not  long 
before  I discovered  how  unreasonable  his  royalism 
was,  and  how  much  caution  was  necessary  in  order 
to  avoid  collision  in  its  waters.  The  servant,  who  had 
quickly  donned  a suit  of  livery,  announced  dinner. 
Monsieur  de  Chessel  gave  his  arm  to  Madame  de 
Mortsauf,  and  the  count  seized  mine  gayly  to  pass 
into  the  dining-room,  which,  according  to  the  rule  of 
the  ground-floor,  matched  the  salon. 

Paved  with  white  tiles  manufactured  in  Touraine, 
and  wainscoted  breast-high,  the  dining-room  was 
hung  with  a varnished  paper  representing  big  panels 
framed  in  flowers  and  fruits ; the  window  curtains 
were  of  muslin  trimmed  with  red  galloon  ; the  side- 
boards were  old  Boule,  and  the  frames  of  the  chairs, 
upholstered  in  handmade  tapestry,  were  of  carved 
oak.  Although  plentifully  supplied,  there  was 
nothing  luxurious  about  the  table  : family  silver 
without  unity  of  design,  Dresden  china  which  was  not 
then  in  fashion,  octagonal  decanters,  knives  with 
agate  handles,  and  trays  of  Chinese  lacquer  under  the 
bottles;  some  flowers  stood  in  pots  varnished  and  gilded 
on  their  fang-like  indentations.  I loved  all  these  old 
things,  I thought  the  Reveillon  paper  and  its  borders 
of  flowers  superb.  The  satisfaction  with  which  my 
sails  were  swelling  prevented  me  from  seeing  the 
inextricable  difficulties  placed  between  her  and  me 
by  so  coherent  a life  of  solitude  and  rusticity.  I was 


62 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


near  her,  on  her  right  hand,  I poured  out  her  drink. 
Yes,  unhoped  for  happiness  ! I was  touching  her 
dress,  I was  eating  her  bread.  In  three  hours’  time, 
my  life  was  mingling  with  hers  ! Anyway,  we  were 
linked  by  that  terrible  kiss,  a kind  of  secret  which 
filled  us  with  mutual  shame.  I behaved  with  glorious 
cowardice  ; I exerted  myself  to  please  the  count,  who 
relished  all  my  flattery  ; I would  have  stroked  the 
dog,  and  courted  the  slightest  wishes  of  the  children  ; 
I would  have  brought  them  hoops,  and  agate  marbles  ; 
I would  have  turned  myself  into  a horse  for  them, 
and  I was  vexed  that  they  did  not  take  possession  of 
me  as  of  a thing  belonging  to  them.  Love  has  its  in- 
tuitions as  genius  has,  and  I realized  vaguely  that 
violence,  sullenness,  and  hostility  would  ruin  my 
hopes.  The  dinner,  to  me  a time  of  inward  delight, 
came  to  an  end.  On  finding  myself  in  her  house,  I 
could  think  neither  of  her  actual  coldness,  nor  of  the 
indifference  underlying  the  count’s  politeness.  Love, 
like  life,  has  a period  of  puberty  during  which  it  is 
self-sufficient.  I made  several  clumsy  replies  in 
harmony  with  the  secret  tumults  of  passion,  but 
which  nobody  could  guess  at,  not  even  she,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  love.  The  rest  of  the  time  was 
like  a dream.  This  beautiful  dream  ceased  when, 
by  the  light  of  the  moon  and  on  a warm,  scented 
evening,  I crossed  the  Indre  amid  fair  fantasies  which 
beautified  the  meadows,  banks  and  hills  ; listening 
to  the  clear  song,  the  unique  note  full  of  melancholy 
uttered  ceaselessly  at  regular  intervals  by  a tree-frog 
whose  scientific  name  I do  not  know,  but  which 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


63 


since  that  solemn  day,  I never  hear  without  infinite 
delight.  There,  as  elsewhere,  I recognized,  some- 
what late,  the  stony  insensibility  which  had  hitherto 
blunted  my  feelings ; I wondered  whether  it  would 
always  be  so  ; 1 believed  I must  be  under  some  fatal 
influence ; the  sinister  events  of  the  past  struggled 
with  the  purely  personal  pleasures  I had  tasted. 
Before  returning  to  Frapesle,  I looked  at  Cloche- 
gourde  and  saw  below  it  a boat,  called  a toue  in 
Touraine,  fastened  to  an  ash-tree,  and  rocked  by 
the  water.  This  toue  belonged  to  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf,  who  used  it  for  fishing. 

“Well,”  said  Monsieur  de  Chessel,  when  we 
were  in  no  danger  of  being  overheard,  “ I need  not 
ask  you  whether  you  discovered  your  beautiful 
shoulders  ; you  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  recep- 
tion Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  gave  you  ! The  deuce  ! 
you  were  at  once  taken  into  favor  ! ” 

This  remark,  followed  by  the  one  of  which  I have 
told  you,  revived  my  drooping  courage.  I had  not 
spoken  a word  since  leaving  Clochegourde,  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  attributed  my  silence  to  happiness. 

“ What  ? ” I replied  in  a tone  of  sarcasm  which 
might  equally  well  appear  to  be  prompted  by  re- 
pressed passion. 

“ Nobody,  no  matter  who,  has  ever  been  so 
graciously  welcomed.” 

“I  confess  that  I am  myself  astonished  at  this 
reception,”  I said,  perceiving  the  inward  bitterness 
revealed  in  this  last  remark. 

Although  I was  too  unskilled  in  worldly  ways  to 


64 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


understand  the  reason  of  the  feeling  experienced  by 
Monsieur  de  Chessel,  I was  nevertheless  struck 
by  the  expression  with  which  he  betrayed  it.  My 
host  possessed  the  infirmity  of  being  called  Durand, 
and  made  himself  ridiculous  by  disowning  the  name  of 
his  father,  a famous  manufacturer,  who  had  made  an 
enormous  fortune  during  the  Revolution.  His  wife 
was  the  only  heiress  of  the  Chessels,  an  old  parlia- 
mentary family,  bourgeois  under  Henri  IV.  like  that 
of  most  of  the  Parisian  magistrates.  As  a man  of 
far-reaching  ambition,  Monsieur  de  Chessel  wanted 
to  do  away  with  his  original  Durand  in  order  to  attain 
the  destiny  he  longed  for.  First  he  called  himself 
Durand  de  Chessel,  then  D.  de  Chessel ; he  was  now 
Monsieur  de  Chessel.  Under  the  Restoration,  he  es- 
tablished a claim  to  the  title  of  Count,  in  virtue  of 
letters  granted  by  Louis  XVIII.  His  children  will 
reap  the  fruits  of  his  daring  without  knowing  the 
grandeur  of  it.  The  remark  of  a certain  caustic 
prince  has  often  weighed  upon  his  mind.  “ Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  rarely  appears  en  Durand he 
said.  This  phrase  entertained  Touraine  for  a long 
time.  Parvenus  are  like  monkeys,  whom  they 
resemble  in  dexterity  ; seeing  them  at  a height,  one 
admires  their  agility  in  ascent ; but,  once  they  have 
reached  the  summit,  one  sees  nothing  more  than 
their  ignoble  extremities.  The  reverse  side  of  my 
host  is  made  up  of  pettinesses  increased  by  envy. 
So  far,  the  peerage  and  he  are  two  impossible  tan- 
gents. To  have  a pretension  and  to  justify  it  is  the 
audacity  of  force  ; but  to  be  unworthy  of  one’s 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


65 

avowed  pretensions  raises  a constant  ridicule  which 
small  minds  gloat  upon.  Now,  Monsieur  de  Chessel 
had  not  had  the  straight  progress  of  the  strong  man  ; 
twice  deputy,  twice  defeated  in  the  elections ; yes- 
terday director-general,  to-day  nothing  at  all,  not 
even  sheriff,  his  successes  or  his  failures  have  spoiled 
his  temper  and  filled  him  with  the  acidity  of  the  am- 
bitious invalid.  Athough  an  honest  man,  intelligent 
and  capable  of  great  things,  it  may  be  that  the  envy 
which  animates  existence  in  Touraine,  where  the 
natives  exercise  their  faculties  in  detracting  from 
everything,  had  been  fatal  to  him  in  the  high  social 
spheres  where  those  whose  faces  pucker  over  the 
success  of  others,  whose  lips  are  sullen,  ill-adapted 
for  compliment  but  quick  at  an  epigram,  meet  with 
but  little  success.  By  trying  for  less,  he  might 
perhaps  have  obtained  more  ; but,  unfortunately,  he 
had  sufficient  superiority  to  wish  to  be  always  ahead. 
At  the  present  time,  Monsieur  de  Chessel  was  at 
the  dawn  of  his  ambition,  royalism  was  taking  his 
fancy.  Perhaps  he  was  assuming  great  airs,  but  to 
me  he  was  perfect.  Besides,  he  pleased  me  for  a 
very  simple  reason  ; in  his  house  I found  rest  for 
the  first  time.  The  interest  he  showed  in  me, 
though  perhaps  feeble,  appeared  to  me,  a miserable, 
repulsed  child,  to  be  an  image  of  paternal  affection. 
The  attentions  of  hospitality  contrasted  so  strongly 
with  the  indifference  that  had  hitherto  crushed  me, 
that  I expressed  a childish  gratitude  at  living  with- 
out chains  and  almost  made  much  of.  Indeed  the 
masters  of  Frapesle  are  so  much  concerned  in  the  dawn 
5 


66 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


of  my  happiness,  that  my  mind  blends  them  in  the 
memories  that  I love  to  live  over  again.  Later  on,  and 
in  the  very  matter  of  letters  patent,  I had  the  pleasure 
of  rendering  my  host  some  service.  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  made  use  of  his  wealth  with  an  ostentation 
that  offended  some  of  his  neighbors  ; he  was  able  to 
renew  his  fine  horses  and  elegant  carriages  ; his  wife 
was  particular  about  her  toilette  ; he  received  on  a 
large  scale  ; his  household  was  more  numerous  than 
the  customs  of  the  country  required,  he  gave  himself 
the  airs  of  a prince.  The  estate  of  Frapesle  is 
enormous.  In  presence  of  his  neighbor  and  before 
all  this  luxury,  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  reduced  to 
the  family  cabriolet,  which  in  Touraine  is  something 
between  the  coach  and  the  post-chaise,  forced  by  his 
moderate  fortune  to  farm  Clochegourde,  remained  a 
Tourangean  until  the  day  when  royal  favors  restored 
his  family  to  an  almost  unhoped-for  splendor.  His 
reception  of  a younger  son  of  a ruined  family  whose 
escutcheon  dates  from  the  Crusades,  served  his  pur- 
pose of  humbling  the  superior  fortune,  and  belittling 
the  woods,  the  lands  and  meadows  of  his  neighbor 
who  was  not  a nobleman.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  had 
quite  understood  the  count.  And  so  they  have 
always  met  politely,  but  with  none  of  that  daily  in- 
tercourse, none  of  that  pleasant  intimacy  which 
should  have  been  established  between  Clochegourde 
and  Frapesle,  two  estates  divided  by  the  Indre, 
and  whose  chatelaines, from  their  respective  windows, 
could  signal  to  each  other. 


Jealousy  was  not  the  only  reason  for  the  solitude 
in  which  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf  was  living.  His 
early  education  had  been  that  of  most  children 
of  noble  family,  an  unfinished  and  superficial  in- 
struction supplemented  by  the  teachings  of  society, 
the  customs  of  the  Court,  and  by  the  execution  of 
the  important  offices  of  the  crown  or  the  high  places. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  emigrated  just  as  his  second 
education  was  beginning,  so  he  went  without  it.  He 
was  one  of  those  who  believed  in  the  speedy  re- 
establishment of  the  monarchy  in  France  ; under 
this  conviction,  his  exile  had  been  spent  in  the  most 
deplorable  idleness.  When  the  army  of  Conde  dis- 
persed, wherein  his  courage  had  caused  him  to  be 
counted  amongst  the  most  devoted,  he  was  expect- 
ing to  return  shortly  under  the  white  flag,  and  did 
not  try,  like  some  emigrants,  to  create  an  industrial 
life  for  himself.  It  may  be,  too,  that  he  had  not 
strength  enough  to  resign  his  name  in  order  to  earn 
his  bread  in  the  toil  of  a despised  occupation.  His 
hopes,  always  pinned  to  the  morrow,  and  perhaps 
his  honor  as  well,  prevented  him  from  waiting  on 
(67) 


68 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


influential  strangers.  Suffering  undermined  his  cour- 
age. Long  walks  undertaken  on  foot  without  suffi- 
cient nourishment,  upon  ever  deceived  hopes, 
affected  his  health,  disheartened  his  spirit.  By 
degrees,  his  destitution  became  extreme.  If  to 
many  men,  want  is  a tonic,  there  are  others  to  whom 
it  is  a dissolvent,  and  the  count  was  one  of  these. 
At  the  thought  of  this  poor  nobleman  of  Touraine 
wandering  and  sleeping  along  the  roads  of  Hungary, 
sharing  a piece  of  mutton  with  Prince  Esterhazy’s 
shepherds,  from  whom  the  traveller  begged  the 
bread  that  the  nobleman  never  would  have  accepted 
from  the  master,  and  that  he  refused  many  a time 
from  hands  inimical  to  France,  I have  never  felt  in  my 
heart  any  malice  against  the  emigrant,  even  though  I 
thought  him  ridiculous  in  the  day  of  triumph.  The 
white  hairs  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  told  me  of 
terrible  sufferings,  and  I sympathize  too  much  with 
exiles  to  be  able  to  judge  them.  The  count's  French 
and  Touraine  gayety  gave  way  ; he  became  morose, 
fell  ill,  and  was  tended  through  charity  in  some  Ger- 
man hospital.  His  illness  was  inflammation  of  the 
mesentery,  often  a fatal  case,  but  the  cure  of  which 
entails  variation  in  the  moods,  and  nearly  always 
causes  hypochondria.  His  amours,  buried  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul,  and  that  I alone  discovered,  were 
amours  of  low  degree,  which  not  only  attacked  his 
vitality,  but  still  further  ruined  it  for  the  future. 
After  twelve  years  of  misery,  he  turned  his  eyes 
toward  France,  to  which  Napoleon's  decree  per- 
mitted him  to  return.  When,  passing  by  the  Rhine,, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  69 

the  suffering  pedestrian  saw  the  belfry  of  Stras- 
bourg on  a beautiful  evening,  he  fainted. 

“ La  France  ! la  France  ! ” I cried  : “ There  is  la 

France!  ” he  told  me,  just  as  a child  cries  “Mother!  ” 
when  he  is  hurt. 

Originally  rich,  he  found  himself  poor ; made  to 
command  a regiment  or  govern  a state,  he  was  with- 
out authority,  without  prospects  ; born  healthy  and 
robust,  he  returned  infirm  and  broken.  Lacking 
education  in  a country  where  men  and  things  had 
necessarily  grown,  without  any  possible  influence,  he 
found  himself  despoiled  of  all,  even  of  his  bodily  and 
moral  forces.  His  want  of  fortune  made  his  name  a 
burden  to  him.  His  resolute  opinions,  his  former 
conduct  in  the  army  under  Conde,  his  sorrows,  his 
memories,  and  his  lost  health,  produced  a suscepti- 
bility of  nature  not  likely  to  be  humored  in  France, 
the  land  of  raillery.  Half  dying,  he  reached  Maine, 
where,  through  some  chance,  perhaps  owing  to  the 
civil  war,  the  revolutionary  government  had  forgot- 
ten to  have  sold  a farm  of  considerable  extent, 
which  his  farmer  was  keeping  for  him  by  pretending 
to  be  the  owner.  When  the  family  of  Lenoncourt, 
who  inhabited  Givry,  a chateau  situated  near  this 
farm,  knew  of  the  arrival  of  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf, 
the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  went  to  him  to  propose  that 
he  should  live  at  Givry  during  the  time  that  he  was 
preparing  a residence  for  himself.  The  Lenoncourt 
family  were  nobly  generous  to  the  count,  who  re- 
covered during  his  stay  of  several  months,  and  exerted 
himself  to  hide  his  sufferings  during  this  first  halt. 


70 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


The  Lenoncourts  had  lost  their  immense  possessions. 
In  name,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  an  eligible  match 
for  their  daughter.  Far  from  opposing  her  marriage 
to  a man  of  thirty-five,  sickly  and  aged,  Mademoiselle 
de  Lenoncourt  seemed  to  be  happy.  Marriage  gave 
her  the  right  to  live  with  her  aunt,  the  Duchesse  de 
Verneuil,  sister  of  the  Prince  de  Blamont-Chauvry, 
who  was  like  an  adopted  mother  to  her. 

An  intimate  friend  of  the  Duchesse  de  Bourbon, 
Madame  de  Verneuil  belonged  to  a saintly  society  the 
life  of  which  was  Monsieur  Saint-Martin,  a native  of 
Touraine,  and  sur named  the  mysterious  Philosopher. 
The  disciples  of  this  philosophy  practised  the  virtues 
counselled  by  the  lofty  speculations  in  mystic  illu- 
minism.  This  doctrine  gives  the  key  to  the  divine 
worlds,  explains  existence  by  transformations  in 
which  man  progresses  to  sublime  destinies,  frees 
duty  from  its  lawful  degradation,  applies  the  Quaker’s 
immovable  calmness  to  the  troubles  of  life,  and  en- 
joins disregard  of  suffering  while  inspiring  an  in- 
describable feeling  of  maternity  for  the  angel  that 
we  take  to  Heaven.  It  is  stoicism  with  a future. 
Active  prayer  and  pure  love  are  the  elements  of 
this  faith  which  departs  from  the  Catholicism  of  the 
Roman  Church  to  return  to  the  Christianity  of  the 
Early  Church. 

Nevertheless,  Mademoiselle  de  Lenoncourt  re- 
mained in  the  bosom  of  the  Apostolic  Church,  to 
which  her  aunt  was  always  equally  faithful.  In  the 
last  days  of  her  life,  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil,  Se- 
verely tried  by  the  revolutionary  agitations,  had  con- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


7 1 


traded  a tinge  of  impassioned  piety  which  shed  into 
her  darling  child’s  soul  the  light  of  heavenly  love  and 
the  oil  of  inward  joy,  to  use  the  expressions  of  Saint- 
Martin  himself.  This  man  of  peace  and  virtuous 
knowledge  was  received  at  Clochegourde  by  the 
countess  several  times  after  the  death  of  her  aunt, 
whom  he  had  often  visited.  It  was  from  Cloche- 
gourde that  Saint-Martin  supervised  his  last  books 
which  were  printed  at  Tours  in  the  house  of  Letour- 
my.  Prompted  by  the  wisdom  of  an  old  woman 
who  has  experienced  the  stormy  passes  of  life,  Ma- 
dame de  Verneuil  gave  Clochegourde  to  the  young 
wife,  for  a home  of  her  own.  With  the  gracious- 
ness of  old  people,  which  is  perfect  when  they  are 
gracious,  the  duchess  gave  up  everything  to  her 
niece,  contenting  herself  with  one  room  above  the 
one  she  had  formerly  occupied  and  which  was  taken 
by  the  countess.  Her  almost  sudden  death  threw  a 
pall  over  the  delight  of  this  union,  and  communicated 
an  indelible  mournfulness  to  Clochegourde  as  it  did 
to  the  bride’s  superstitious  mind.  To  the  countess, 
the  early  days  of  her  settlement  in  Touraine  were, 
if  not  the  happiest,  at  least  the  most  careless  times 
in  all  her  life. 

After  the  irregularities  of  his  sojourn-abroad,  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf,  pleased  at  this  glimpse  of  a merci- 
ful future,  experienced  a convalescence,  as  it  were, 
of  the  mind  ; in  this  valley  he  inhaled  the  intoxicat- 
ing perfumes  of  flowering  hope.  Obliged  to  consider 
his  income,  he  threw  himself  into  preparations  for 
his  agricultural  venture,  and  began  by  enjoying 


72 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


some  pleasure  * but  the  birth  of  Jacques  was  a 
thunderbolt  which  ruined  both  present  and  future  ; 
the  doctor  despaired  of  the  new-born  child.  The 
count  carefully  concealed  this  decree  from  the 
mother ; then  he  sought  medical  advice  for  himself 
and  received  a hopeless  answer  which  was  con- 
firmed by  the  birth  of  Madeleine.  These  two 
events,  and  a sort  of  inner  certainty  about  the  fatal 
sentence,  increased  the  emigrant’s  sickly  tendencies. 
His  name  for  ever  extinct,  a young  wife,  pure,  irre- 
proachable, unhappy  at  his  side,  sacrificed  to  the 
agony  of  maternity,  without  its  pleasures ; this  soil 
of  his  former  life  from  which  fresh  suffering  was 
springing,  struck  him  to  the  heart,  and  completed 
his  destruction.  The  countess  guessed  the  past  by 
the  present  and  read  into  the  future. 

Although  nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  make  a 
man  happy  who  is  conscious  of  his  defects,  the 
countess  attempted  this  undertaking,  which  was 
worthy  of  an  angel.  In  one  day,  she  became  a 

stoic.  After  having  descended  into  the  abyss 
whence  she  could  still  see  Heaven,  she  devoted 
herself,  for  the  sake  of  one  man,  to  the  mission  that 
a sister  of  charity  undertakes  for  all ; and  in  order 
to  reconcile  him  with  himself,  she  forgave  him  that 
which  he  could  not  forgive  himself.  The  count  be- 
came miserly,  she  accepted  the  privations  inflicted  ; 
he  was  afraid  of  being  deceived,  as  are  all  those 
who  have  known  the  life  of  the  world  only  to  ac- 
quire dislike  of  it,  so  she  remained  in  solitude  and- 
submitted  to  his  suspicions  without  a murmur ; she 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


73 


exerted  all  a woman’s  cunning  to  make  him  care  for 
what  was  right,  thus  he  fancied  that  he  had  ideas 
and  at  home  tasted  the  pleasures  of  a superiority 
that  he  would  not  have  had  elsewhere.  Then,  after 
having  gone  so  far  along  the  road  of  matrimony,  she 
resolved  never  to  leave  Clochegourde,  knowing  the 
count  to  have  an  hysterical  mind,  the  flights  of 
which,  in  a neighborhood  of  malice  and  gossip, 
might  injure  her  children.  Therefore  nobody  sus- 
pected Monsieur  de  Mortsauf’s  real  incapacity,  she 
had  decked  his  ruins  in  a thick  cloak  of  ivy.  So  the 
count’s  variable  character,  not  discontented,  but 
malcontent,  encountered  in  his  wife  a smooth  yield- 
ing soil  in  which  he  expanded  himself  by  feeling  his 
secret  sorrows  softened  by  its  cooling  balm. 

This  account  is  the  most  natural  explanation  of  the 
words  wrung  from  Monsieur  de  Chessel  by  secret 
mortification.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  had 
given  him  an  insight  into  some  of  the  mysteries  en- 
tombed at  Clochegourde.  But  if  by,  her  sublime 
attitude,  Madame  de  Mortsauf  deceived  the  world, 
she  could  not  deceive  the  intelligent  senses  of  love. 
When  1 found  myself  in  my  little  room,  the  presci- 
ence of  the  truth  made  me  bound  in  my  bed,  I could 
not  endure  being  at  Frapesle  when  I was  able  to  see 
the  windows  of  her  room  ; I dressed,  went  stealth- 
ily downstairs  and  left  the  chateau  by  the  door  of 
a tower  in  which  there  was  a spiral  staircase.  The 
coolness  of  the  night  calmed  me.  I crossed  the 
Indre  by  the  bridge  of  the  Moulin  Rouge,  and  I 
gained  the  blessed  barge  opposite  Clochegourde 


74  THE  lily  of  the  valley 

where  a light  was  shining  in  the  last  window  on  the 
side  of  Azay. 

I resumed  my  former  meditations,  now  peaceful, 
now  intermingled  with  the  roulades  of  the  songster 
of  amorous  nights,  and  with  the  unrivalled  note  of 
the  nightingale  of  the  waters.  Thoughts  awoke 
within  me  which  glided  away  like  phantoms  while 
removing  the  gloom  which  had  hitherto  hidden  my 
fair  future.  Mind  and  senses  were  equally  fasci- 
nated. With  what  violence  my  longings  flew  to  her. 
How  many  times  I said  to  myself,  like  a fool  with 
his  refrain:  “Shall  I have  her?”  If,  during  the 
preceding  days,  the  universe  had  seemed  greater  to 
me,  in  one  single  night  it  became  a centre.  To  her 
clung  all  my  aims  and  ambitions,  I longed  to  be  all 
things  for  her,  so  as  to  revive  and  fill  her  broken 
heart.  How  lovely  was  that  night  spent  beneath 
her  windows,  amid  the  murmur  of  the  waters  filter- 
ing through  the  sluices  of  the  mills,  and  broken  by 
the  voice  of  The  hours  sounding  from  the  tower  of 
Sache ! During  that  refulgent  night  upon  which 
this  starry  flower  gave  light  to  my  life,  I plighted 
my  soul  to  her  with  all  the  faith  of  the  poor  Castilian 
knight  whom  we  ridicule  in  Cervantes,  and  with 
which  we  begin  love.  At  the  first  glimmer  in  the 
sky,  at  the  first  chirp  of  a bird,  I escaped  into  the 
park  of  Frapesle  ; I was  not  seen  by  any  peasant, 
nobody  suspected  my  escapade,  and  I slept  until  the 
bell  rang  for  breakfast.  After  breakfast,  in  spite  of 
the  heat,  I wended  my  way  down  to  the  meadow ‘to 
look  once  more  at  the  Indre  and  its  islands,  at  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


75 


valley  and  its  slopes,  of  which  I seemed  to  be  an 
ardent  admirer ; but,  with  a swiftness  of  foot  that 
might  vie  with  a runaway  horse,  I again  sought  my 
boat,  my  willows  and  my  Clochegourde.  Every- 
thing was  silent  and  quivering,  as  the  country  is  at 
noon.  The  motionless  leaves  were  clearly  outlined 
against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  ; the  insects  which 
live  upon  light,  green  dragon-flies, Spanish  flies,  were 
flying  to  their  ash-trees  and  their  reeds  ; the  flocks 
were  ruminating  in  the  shade,  the  red  soil  of  the 
vineyard  was  scorching,  and  the  adders  were  glid- 
ing along  the  slopes. 

What  a change  in  the  landscape  that  had  been  so 
cool  and  fair  before  my  sleep  ! All  of  a sudden,  I 
jumped  out  of  the  boat  and  went  up  the  path  to 
stroll  round  Clochegourde,  whence  I thought  I had 
seen  the  count  coming  out.  I was  not  mistaken, 
he  was  going  along  a hedge,  and  was  doubtless  mak- 
ing for  a door  opening  on  the  Azay  road,  which 
skirts  the  river. 

“ How  are  you  this  morning,  Monsieur  le 
Comte?  ” 

He  looked  at  me  delightedly,  it  was  not  often  that 
he  heard  himself  addressed  like  this. 

“ Very  well,”  he  said,  “ but  you  must  be  fond  of 
the  country  to  walk  about  in  such  heat?  ” 

“ Was  I not  sent  here  to  live  out  in  the  open 
air?  ” 

“ Well  then,  would  you  like  to  come  and  see  my 
rye  being  cut?  ” 

“ Why,  willingly,”  I said,  “ I must  confess  that  I 


i 


76 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


am  incredibly  ignorant.  I cannot  tell  rye  from 
wheat,  or  a poplar  from  an  aspen  ; I know  nothing 
about  cultivation,  or  the  different  ways  of  farming 
an  estate.’ ’ 

“ Well  then,  come  along,”  he  said  joyfully,  re- 
tracing his  steps,  “ come  in  by  the  little  upper  door.” 

He  went  back  along  the  inner  side  of  his  hedge, 
I on  the  outer  side. 

“You  will  learn  nothing  at  Monsieur  de  Ches- 
sers,” he  said,  “he  is  much  too  fine  a gentleman 
to  do  anything  but  receive  the  accounts  from  his 
steward.” 

He  then  showed  me  his  yards  and  outhouses,  the 
pleasure  gardens,  the  orchards  and  kitchen-gardens. 
Finally,  he  led  me  toward  the  long  avenue  of  aca- 
cias and  ailanthus,  bordered  by  the  river,  where, 
upon  a bench  at  the  other  end,  I saw  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  busy  with  her  two  children.  How  beauti- 
ful a woman  looks  beneath  these  minute,  quivering, 
clear-cut  leaves ! Surprised  perhaps  at  my  na!ve 
eagerness,  she  did  not  move,  knowing  well  that  we 
should  go  to  her.  The  count  made  me  admire  the 
view  of  the  valley,  which,  from  there,  presents  a 
totally  different  aspect  from  those  unfolded  from  the 
heights  we  had  traversed.  At  that  point,  you 
would  have  taken  it  for  a small  corner  of  Switzer- 
land. The  meadow,  intersected  by  the  streams  that 
flow  into  the  Indre,  is  seen  in  its  entire  extent,  and 
is  lost  in  a misty  distance.  Toward  Montbazon, 
the  eye  perceives  an  immense  expanse  of  greerf, 
and  at  all  other  points  is  arrested  by  hills,  masses 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


77 


of  trees,  and  rocks.  We  hastened  our  steps  to  go 
andgreet  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  who  suddenly  dropped 
the  book  from  which  Madeleine  was  reading,  and 
took  Jacques,  who  was  seized  with  a convulsive 
cough,  on  her  knee. 

“ Well,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?  ” cried  the 
count,  turning  pale. 

“ He  has  a sore  throat,”  replied  the  mother,  ap- 
parently not  seeing  me,  “ it  is  nothing.” 

She  was  holding  both  his  head  and  back,  and 
from  her  eyes  darted  two  rays  that  seemed  to  be 
shedding  life  upon  the  poor  weak  creature. 

“Your  imprudence  is  something  incredible,”  re- 
torted the  count  sharply,  “ you  expose  him  to  the 
chill  of  the  river  and  seat  him  on  a bench  of 
stone.” 

“ But  the  seat  is  scorching,  father,”  cried  Made- 
leine. 

“ They  were  stifling  up  there,”  said  the  countess. 

“ Women  always  insist  upon  being  in  the  right!  ” 
he  said,  looking  at  me. 

To  avoid  showing  approval  or  disapproval  in  my 
glance,  I was  looking  at  Jacques,  who  was  complain- 
ing of  pain  in  his  throat,  and  who  was  carried  off  by 
his  mother.  Before  leaving  us,  she  heard  her  hus- 
band saying : 

“ When  one  has  created  such  sickly  children,  one 
ought  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  them  ! ” 

Words  that  were  utterly  unjust ; but  his  pride  im- 
pelled him  to  justify  himself  at  his  wife’s  expense. 
The  countess  was  flying  up  the  slopes  and  steps.  I 


78 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


saw  her  disappearing  through  the  French  window. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  seated  himself  on  the 
bench,  his  head  bent,  thinking ; my  position  was  be- 
coming intolerable,  he  neither  looked  at  me  nor  spoke 
to  me.  Farewell  to  that  walk  during  which  I had  so 
calculated  upon  ingratiating  myself  with  him.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  having  spent  a more  horrible 
quarter  of  an  hour  than  that  was.  1 was  in  a profuse 
perspiration,  saying  to  myself  : “ Shall  I go  ? shall  I 

not  go  ? ” What  sad  thoughts  must  have  arisen 
within  him  to  make  him  forget  to  go  and  see  how 
Jacques  was  ! He  rose  abruptly  and  came  near  me. 
We  turned  to  look  at  the  smiling  valley. 

“ We  will  put  off  our  walk  till  another  day,  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,”  1 then  said  to  him  gently. 

“ Let  us  go  out ! ” he  replied.  “I  am  unhappily 
accustomed  to  the  sight  of  such  crises,  I who  would 
give  my  life  without  any  regret  to  preserve  that  of 
this  child.” 

“Jacques  is  better,  he  is  asleep,  my  love,”  said 
the  golden  voice. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  suddenly  appeared  at  the  end 
of  the  alley,  she  came  without  any  malice  or  bitter- 
ness, and  returned  my  greeting.  “ I am  pleased  to 
see,”  she  said,  “that  you  like  Clochegourde.” 

“ My  dear,  would  you  like  me  to  ride  and  fetch 
Monsieur  Deslandes  ? ” he  said,  showing  a desire 
to  be  forgiven  his  injustice. 

“Do  not  worry,”  she  said,  “Jacques  did  not 
sleep  last  night,  that  is  all.  The  child  is  very  nerv- 
ous, he  had  a bad  dream,  and  I spent  all  the  time 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


79 


telling  him  stories  to  send  him  to  sleep.  His  cough 
is  merely  nervous,  I have  quieted  it  with  a gum 
lozenge,  and  he  has  fallen  asleep.” 

“ Poor  wife  ! ” he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his  and 
looking  at  her  with  moistened  eyes,  “ 1 did  not  know 
anything  about  it.” 

“What  is  the  use  of  distressing  you  for  trifles? 
Go  to  your  rye.  You  know,  if  you  are  not  there, 
the  farmers  will  allow  strange  gleaners  from  the 
town  to  come  into  the  field  before  the  sheaves  are 
removed.” 

“Iam  going  to  take  my  first  lesson  in  agriculture, 
madame,”  I said  to  her. 

“You  have  come  to  a good  school,”  she  replied, 
pointing  to  the  count,  whose  mouth  contracted  into 
that  smile  of  satisfaction  which  is  commonly  called 
pursing  up  one’s  lips. 

It  was  only  after  two  months  that  I knew  she 
had  spent  the  night  in  terrible  anxiety,  fearing 
that  her  son  might  have  croup.  And  I,  I had  been 
in  the  boat,  gently  lulled  by  thoughts  of  love,  imag- 
ining that,  from  her  window,  she  could  see  me 
worshipping  the  gleam  of  the  candle  which  was  then 
lighting  up  her  forehead,  furrowed  with  deadly  fears. 
The  croup  was  prevailing  in  Tours,  and  was  work- 
ing fearful  havoc.  When  we  got  to  the  door,  the 
count  said  to  me  in  a trembling  voice: 

“ Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  an  angel!  ” This  word 
made  me  falter.  As  yet  I only  knew  this  family 
superficially,  and  the  remorse  which  so  naturally 
overwhelms  a youthful  mind  at  such  a time,  cried 


8o 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


out:  “What  right  have  you  to  disturb  this  great 

peace?  ” 

Delighted  at  finding  an  auditor  in  a young  man  over 
whom  he  could  win  easy  triumphs,  the  count  spoke 
about  the  prospect  that  the  return  of  the  Bourbons 
was  preparing  for  France.  We  had  a rambling  con- 
versation in  which  I heard  some  really  childish  things 
that  surprised  me  strangely.  He  was  unacquainted 
with  facts  of  geometrical  evidence;  he  was  afraid  of 
educated  people  ; superiority  he  denied  ; he  ridiculed 
progress,  perhaps  with  some  reason ; in  short,  1 
found  he  had  a great  many  tender  fibres  which  ne- 
cessitated so  many  precautions  in  order  to  avoid 
hurting  him,  that  a continuous  conversation  became 
a work  of  talent.  When  I had,  as  it  were,  laid  hold 
of  his  defects,  I adapted  myself  to  them  with  as 
much  versatility  as  the  countess  employed  in  humor- 
ing them.  At  another  period  of  my  life,  I should 
undoubtedly  have  clashed  with  them  ; but,  being  as 
timid  as  a child,  believing  I knew  nothing,  or  believ- 
ing that  grown  men  knew  everything,  I was  amazed 
at  the  wonders  obtained  at  Clochegourde  by  this 
patient  agriculturist.  I listened  to  his  schemes  with 
admiration.  Finally,  I expressed  envy  of  this  beauti- 
ful estate,  its  situation,  this  earthly  paradise,  while 
placing  it  far  above  Frapesle,  thus,  by  an  involun- 
tary flattery,  gaining  the  old  nobleman’s  good 
will. 

“ Frapesle,”  I said,  “ is  a massive  piece  of 
silver ; but  Clochegourde  is  a casket  of  precious 
stones ! ” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


8l 


A phrase  which  he  often  repeated  after  that  in 
quoting  the  author. 

“ Well,  before  we  came  here,  it  was  all  desola- 
tion, ” he  said. 

I was  all  ears  whilst  he  was  speaking  of  his  seed- 
lings and  nurseries.  Being  new  to  country  indus- 
tries, I overwhelmed  him  with  questions  about  the 
price  of  things  and  the  means  of  cultivation,  and  he 
appeared  to  me  to  be  delighted  at  having  to  teach  me 
so  many  details. 

“ What  do  they  teach  you  then  ? ” he  asked  me 
with  astonishment. 

After  that  first  day  the  count  said  to  his  wife  as 
he  went  in : 

“ Monsieur  Felix  is  a charming  young  man  ! ” 

That  night,  I wrote  to  my  mother  to  send  me 
some  clothes  and  linen,  telling  her  that  I was  going 
to  stay  at  Frapesle.  Ignorant  of  the  great  revolu- 
tion that  was  then  taking  place,  and  not  understand- 
ing the  influence  it  was  to  exercise  upon  my  career, 
I was  expecting  to  return  to  Paris  to  complete  my 
law  studies,  and  the  college  classes  were  not  resumed 
until  the  early  part  of  November ; so  I had  two 
months  and  a half  before  me. 


During  the  first  days  of  my  stay,  I attempted  to 
make  great  friends  with  the  count,  and  it  was  a 
time  of  painful  impressions.  In  this  man  I discov- 
ered a senseless  irascibility,  a hastiness  of  action  in 
any  desperate  emergency  which  frightened  me.  He 
would  sometimes  have  sudden  relapses  into  the 
valorous  nobleman  of  Conde’s  army,  parabolical 
flashes  of  that  resolution,  which,  in  the  day  of  grave 
necessity  can  bore  through  politics  like  a shell,  and 
which,  by  accident  of  judgment  and  courage  makes 
an  Elbee,  a Bonchamp,  a Charette  of  a man  who  is 
condemned  to  live  at  his  country  seat.  At  certain 
suppositions,  his  nose  would  contract,  his  forehead 
would  light  up,  and  his  eyes  flash  lightning  which 
would  abate  immediately  after.  I was  afraid  lest, 
in  surprising  the  language  of  my  eyes,  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  should  kill  me  without  reflection.  At  that 
period,  I was  simply  tender.  That  will,  which  so 
strangely  alters  men,  was  only  just  beginning  to 
spring  up  in  me.  My  extreme  desires  had  given  me 
those  sudden  agitations  of  feeling  which  resemble 
the  shocks  of  terror.  The  struggle  did  not  shake 
me,  but  I did  not  want  to  lose  my  life  before  tasting 
(83) 


84 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  happiness  of  mutual  love.  The  difficulties  and 
my  longings  were  increasing  in  two  parallel  lines. 
How  was  I to  speak  of  my  feelings?  I was  a prey 
to  distressing  perplexity.  I awaited  some  chance,  1 
was  on  the  watch,  I made  friends  with  the  children, 
whose  love  I gained,  I tried  to  identify  myself  with 
the  affairs  of  the  household.  By  degrees,  the  count 
became  less  restrained  with  me.  I then  became 
acquainted  with  his  sudden  changes  of  temper,  his 
deep  and  unreasonable  fits  of  gloom,  his  abrupt  out- 
bursts of  indignation,  his  bitter,  curt  complaints,  his 
spiteful  .indifference,  his  attacks  of  suppressed  pas- 
sion, his  childish  lamentations,  his  outcries  of  a man 
in  despair,  his  unexpected  rages.  Moral  nature 
differs  from  physical  nature  in  this,  that  it  is  in  no  way 
absolute ; the  intensity  of  effects  is  in  proportion  to 
the  force  of  the  characters  or  the  ideas  that  we  group 
round  a fact.  My  attitude  at  Clochegourde,  my 
future  was  at  the  mercy  of  this  fantastic  will.  I can- 
not tell  you  what  agony  oppressed  my  mind,  which 
at  that  time  expanded  as  easily  as  it  contracted, 
when  upon  entering  I used  to  say  to  myself  : “ How 
will  he  receive  me  ? ” What  anxiety  of  heart  then 
overwhelmed  me  when  a storm  suddenly  gathered 
upon  that  snowy  brow.  It  was  a ceaseless  tension. 
And  so  I fell  under  the  despotism  of  this  man.  My 
own  sufferings  helped  me  to  divine  those  of  Madame 
de  Mortsauf.  We  began  to  exchange  looks  of  intel- 
ligence, my  tears  sometimes  flowed  when  she  kept 
back  hers.  In  this  way  the  countess  and  I tested 
each  other  by  sorrow.  How  many  discoveries  did  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


85 


not  make  during  those  first  forty  days  of  real  bitter- 
ness, of  tacit  joys,  of  hopes  at  one  time  crushed,  at 
another  triumphant. 

One  evening,  I found  her  musing  gravely  before  a 
sunset  which,  while  showing  the  valley  as  if  it  were 
a bed,  was  so  voluptuously  reddening  the  heights  that 
it  was  impossible  not  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  that 
eternal  Song  of  Songs  with  which  Nature  incites  her 
creatures  to  love.  Was  the  young  girl  reviving  her 
lost  illusions?  was  the  woman  suffering  from  some 
secret  comparison?  I thought  I saw  an  abandon  in 
her  attitude  favorable  to  first  confessions,  and  said 
to  her  : 

“ These  are  trying  days  ! ” 

“You  have  read  into  my  soul,”  she  said,  “but 
how  ? ” 

“ We  are  in  touch  with  each  other  on  so  many 
points ! ” I replied.  “ Do  we  not  belong  to  the 
small  number  of  beings  privileged  to  pain  and  plea- 
sure, whose  sensitive  qualities  all  vibrate  in  unison 
while  producing  great  inward  echoes,  and  whose 
nervous  nature  is  in  ceaseless  harmony  with  the 
principle  of  things  ? Put  them  where  all  is  discor- 
dant and  these  persons  will  suffer  horribly,  just  in 
the  same  way  as  their  pleasure  attains  exaltation 
when  they  meet  ideas,  sensations  or  beings  who  are 
in  sympathy  with  them.  But  for  us  there  is  a third 
condition,  the  miseries  of  which  are  known  only  to 
minds  affected  by  the  same  malady,  and  in  whom 
one  meets  fraternal  comprehension.  It  is  possible 
for  us  to  be  unmoved  by  either  good  or  evil.  Then 


86 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


a speaking  organ  gifted  with  animation  stirs  within 
us  in  the  void,  becomes  impassioned  without  object, 
yields  sounds  without  producing  melody,  utters  cries 
which  are  lost  in  oblivion  ; a kind  of  terrible  contra- 
diction of  a soul  in  revolt  against  the  inutility  of 
nothingness ; overwhelming  odds  in  which  our 
strength  escapes  wholly  without  sustenance,  like 
blood  from  a secret  wound.  Sensibility  flows  in 
torrents,  resulting  in  horrible  debility,  and  unutter- 
able melancholy  for  which  the  confessional  has  no 
ear.  Have  I not  expressed  our  mutual  sufferings  ? ” 
She  started,  and  without  taking  her  eyes  from  the 
sunset,  she  replied  : 

“ How  can  one  so  young  know  these  things  ? 
Have  you  then  been  a woman  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! ” 1 answered  in  a trembling  voice,  “ my 

childhood  was  like  one  long  illness. ” 

“ I hear  Madeleine  coughing/ ’ she  said,  hastily 
leaving  me. 

The  countess  saw  that  I was  attentive  to  her,  with- 
out taking  offence,  for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place, 
she  was  as  pure  as  a child,  and  her  mind  never 
launched  out  into  any  digressions.  Then  I amused 
the  count,  I was  food  for  this  lion  without  claws  or 
mane.  Finally,  I found  a reason  for  coming  which 
seemed  plausible  to  all.  I did  not  know  backgammon, 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  proposed  that  he  should 
teach  me,  1 accepted.  Just  as  we  made  our  agree- 
ment, the  countess  could  not  help  giving  me  a look 
of  compassion  which  meant : “ But  you  are  throwing 
yourself  into  the  jaws  of  the  wolf  ! ” If  I did  not  un- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


87 


derstand  at  first,  the  third  day  I knew  to  what  I had 
pledged  myself.  My  untiring  patience,  fruit  of  my 
childhood,  matured  during  this  time  of  probation.  It 
was  a delight  to  the  count  to  indulge  in  merciless 
taunts  when  I failed  to  put  into  practice  the  principle 
or  rule  that  he  had  explained  to  me;  if  I reflected,  he 
complained  of  the  tedium  of  a slow  game  ; if  I played 
fast,  he  grew  angry  at  being  hurried ; if  I was 
pegged,  he  told  me,  while  profiting  by  it,  that  I was 
in  too  great  haste.  It  was  the  tyranny  of  the  school- 
master, a despotism  of  the  rod  of  which  I can  give 
you  no  idea  save  by  comparing  myself  to  Epictetus 
fallen  under  the  yoke  of  a cruel  child.  When  we 
played  for  money,  his  unvarying  success  caused  him 
the  most  disgraceful,  mean  delight.  One  word  from 
his  wife  would  console  me  for  everything,  and 
quickly  restore  him  to  a sense  of  politeness  and  de- 
corum. Very  soon  I fell  into  the  furnace  of  an  un- 
foreseen torfure. 

In  this  occupation,  my  money  went.  Although 
the  count  always  stood  between  his  wife  and  me 
until  the  moment  I left  them,  which  was  sometimes 
very  late,  I always  hoped  the  moment  might  come 
when  I should  steal  into  her  heart ; but,  in  order  to 
obtain  that  hour  waited  for  with  the  painful  patience 
of  a hunter,  was  it  not  necessary  to  continue  those 
tiresome  games  during  which  my  mind  was  con- 
stantly harrowed,  and  which  ran  away  with  all  my 
money  ? How  many  times  already  had  we  not 
dwelt  in  silence,  absorbed  in  looking  at  some  sunset 
effect  on  the  meadow,  at  clouds  in  a gray  sky,  at  misty 


88 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


hills,  or  the  quiverings  of  the  moon  in  the  jewels  of 
the  river,  without  saying  more  than  : 

“ What  a beautiful  night ! ” 

“ The  night  is  a woman,  madame.” 

“ What  peace  ! ” 

“ Yes,  one  cannot  be  entirely  miserable  here.” 

At  this  reply,  she  would  go  back  to  her  tapestry. 
At  last,  I was  hearing  in  her  the  stir  of  feeling  caused 
by  an  affection  that  would  have  its  way.  Without 
money*  farewell  to  the  evening  meetings  ! I had 
written  to  my  mother  to  send  me  some  ; she  scolded 
me,  and  did  not  send  me  any  for  eight  days.  To 
whom  could  I apply  ? And  it  was  a matter  of  my 
life  ! And  so,  in  the  midst  of  my  first  great  happi- 
ness, I was  again  to  meet  with  the  sufferings  that  had 
everywhere  beset  me  ; but,  in  Paris,  at  college,  at 
school,  I had  escaped  them  by  careful  abstinence,  my 
misery  had  been  negative ; at  Frapesle  it  became 
active ; then  it  was  that  I understood  the  desire  to 
steal,  those  meditated  crimes,  those  appalling  fits  of 
rage  that  furrow  the  soul  and  that  we  ought  to  stifle 
for  fear  of  losing  our  self-respect.  The  memory  of 
the  cruel  meditations,  and  the  pangs  inflicted  upon 
me  by  my  mother’s  parsimony  have  instilled  into  me 
the  blessed  indulgence  for  young  people  possessed  by 
those  who,  without  having  transgressed,  have  reached 
the  brink  of  the  abyss  as  if  to  sound  its  depths. 
Although  my  honesty,  fed  upon  cold  perspirations, 
may  have  been  strengthened  at  those  moments  when 
life  yawns  open  and  shows  the  arid  gravel  of  its  bed, 
every  time  that  terrible  human  justice  draws  its 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


89 


sword  across  a man’s  neck,  I have  said  to  myself : 
“ Penal  laws  have  been  made  by  people  who  have  not 
known  misery.”  In  this  extremity  I discovered,  in 
Monsieur  de  Chessel’s  library,  a treatise  upon  back- 
gammon, and  studied  it ; then  my  host  was  very 
willing  to  give  me  a few  lessons ; less  harshly 
guided,  I was  able  to  make  some  progress,  and 
apply  the  rules  and  calculations  which  I learned  by 
heart. 

In  a few  days,  I was  in  a condition  to  conquer  my 
master ; but,  when  I won,  his  temper  became  ex- 
ecrable ; his  eyes  glared  like  a tiger’s,  his  face  be- 
came convulsed,  his  eyebrows  worked  more  than 
those  of  anyone  that  I have  ever  seen.  His  com- 
plaints were  those  of  a spoiled  child.  At  times  he 
threw  down  the  dice,  flew  into  a rage,  stamped,  bit 
his  dice-box  and  abused  me.  These  fits  of  violence 
had  a limit.  When  I had  acquired  a better  game,  I 
led  the  battle  as  I pleased  ; I arranged  it  so  that  at 
the  end  it  should  all  be  very  nearly  equal,  by  letting 
him  win  the  first  half  of  the  game,  and  recovering 
the  balance  during  the  second  half.  The  count 
would  have  been  less  astonished  at  the  end  of  the 
world  than  at  his  pupil’s  rapid  superiority  ; but  he 
never  acknowledged  it.  The  unvarying  issue  of 
our  games  was  fresh  food  for  his  ingenuity. 

“ Decidedly,”  he  said,  “ my  poor  head  is  tired. 
You  always  win  toward  the  end  of  the  game,  because 
I then  lose  my  resources.” 

The  countess,  who  knew  the  game,  found  out  my 
manoeuvre  the  first  time,  and  recognized  therein 


90 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


tokens  of  great  affection.  These  details  can  only  be 
appreciated  by  those  who  know  the  dreadful  diffi- 
culties of  backgammon.  How  much  was  told  in  this 
little  thing  ! But  love,  like  the  God  of  Bossuet,  sets 
the  poor  man’s  glass  of  water,  the  effort  of  the  soldier 
who  dies  ignored,  above  the  most  splendid  victories. 
The  countess  gave  me  those  dumb  thanks  that 
break  a youthful  heart ; she  gave  me  the  look  that 
she  kept  for  her  children  ! After  that  blissful 
evening,  she  always  looked  at  me  when  speaking  to 
me.  I cannot  describe  the  state  1 was  in  upon 
leaving.  My  soul  had  absorbed  my  body,  I weighed 
nothing',  I was  not  walking  at  all,  I was  flying.  1 
could  feel  that  glance  within  me,  it  had  inundated 
me  with  light,  just  as  her  Adieu , monsieur ! had 
reechoed  in  my  heart  the  harmonies  contained  in 
the  O' filii!  Ofilice!  of  the  paschal  resurrection.  A 
new  life  was  dawning  for  me.  Then  I was  some- 
thing to  her  ! 1 fell  asleep  amid  swathes  of  purple. 

Flames  passed  before  my  closed  eyes,  pursuing  each 
other  into  the  darkness  like  the  pretty  worms  of  fire 
running  after  one  another  over  the  ashes  of  burnt 
paper.  In  my  dreams,  her  voice  became  something 
indescribably  palpable,  an  atmosphere  which  en- 
veloped me  in  light  and  perfume,  a melody  which 
caressed  my  imagination.  The  next  day,  her  wel- 
come expressed  the  fulness  of  conceded  conscious- 
ness and  from  that  moment  I was  initiated  into  the 
secrets  of  her  voice.  That  day  was  to  be  one  of 
the  most  memorable  in  my  life. 

After  dinner,  we  went  for  a walk  upon  the  heights, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


91 


over  a plain  where  nothing  could  thrive,  the  soil 
was  stony  and  parched,  without  mould  ; never- 
theless, there  were  a few  oak  trees  and  some  bushes 
covered  with  wild  plums;  but  instead  of  grass,  there 
stretched  a carpet  of  wild,  woolly  mosses,  illumined 
by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  slippery  to  the 
feet.  I was  holding  Madeleine  by  the  hand  to 
support  her,  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  giving 
her  arm  to  Jacques.  The  count,  who  was  walking 
in  front,  turned  round,  struck  the  ground  with  his 
cane,  and  said  to  me  in  an  awful  tone  : 

“ That  is  my  life  ! — Oh  ! but  before  I knew  you,” 
he  continued,  looking  apologetically  at  his  wife. 

Too  late  a reparation  ; the  countess  had  turned 
pale.  What  woman  would  not  have  faltered  as  she 
did  at  receiving  such  a blow  ? 

“ What  delicious  scents  there  are  here,  and 
beautiful  effects  of  light!”  I cried.  “I  would 
gladly  have  this  moor  for  my  own,  I might  perhaps 
find  some  treasures  by  boring ; but  the  most  re- 
liable wealth  would  be  your  vicinity.  Who,  more- 
over, would  not  pay  a high  price  for  a view  so 
pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  for  that  serpentine  river 
where  the  spirit  steeps  itself  between  the  ash-trees 
and  the  alders  ? See  the  difference  in  tastes  ! To 
you,  this  spot  of  ground  is  waste  land  ; to  me,  it  is 
a paradise.” 

She  thanked  me  with  a look. 

“ Romance ! ” he  remarked  in  a bitter  tone, 
“ This  is  not  the  life  for  a man  of  your  name.” 
Then  he  broke  off  and  said  : 


Q2 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ Do  you  hear  the  bells  of  Azay  ? I can  positive- 
ly hear  the  bells  ringing.” 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  looked  at  me  in  alarm,  Made- 
leine squeezed  my  hand. 

“ Shall  we  return  for  a game  of  backgammon  ? ” 
I said  to  him.  “ The  sound  of  the  dice  will  prevent 
you  from  hearing  the  bells.” 

We  returned  to  Clochegourde,  talking  by  fits  and 
starts.  The  count  complained  of  sharp  pains  with- 
out specifying  them.  When  we  were  in  the  salon, 
there  was  an  indefinable  suspense  over  us  all. 
The  count  had  sunk  into  an  armchair,  rapt  in  a fit 
of  musing  which  was  respected  by  his  wife,  who 
understood  the  symptoms  of  the  malady  and  knew 
how  to  meet  the  attack.  I imitated  her  silence.  If 
she  did  not  beg  me  to  go  away,  it  was  perhaps 
because  she  thought  the  game  of  backgammon 
might  enliven  the  count  and  divert  these  fatal  nerv- 
ous susceptibilities  the  outbursts  of  which  were 
killing  her.  Nothing  was  more  difficult  than  to  get 
the  count  to  play  this  game  of  backgammon,  which 
he  usually  liked  so  much.  Like  a petite-maitresse, 
he  wanted  to  be  entreated,  urged,  so  as  not  to  look 
as  if  he  were  being  forced,  perhaps  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  was.  If,  in  pursuance  of  an  inter- 
esting conversation,  I was  for  a moment  forgetful  of 
my  solicitations,  he  became  sulky,  harsh,  offensive, 
and  chafed  at  the  conversation  while  contradicting 
everything  that  was  said.  Warned  by  his  bad 
temper,  I proposed  a game  ; then,  he  coquetted  : 
“ In  the  first  place  it  was  too  late,”  he  said,  “ and* 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


93 


then  I did  not  care  about  it.”  In  short,  ungovern- 
able affectations,  as  with  women  who  end  by  making 
one  ignorant  of  their  real  desires.  I humbled  my- 
self, I begged  him  to  support  me  in  a science  which 
was  so  easily  forgotten  for  want  of  practice.  This 
time,  I had  to  assume  an  immoderate  gayety  to  in- 
duce him  to  play.  He  complained  of  giddiness 
which  would  prevent  him  from  calculating,  his  skull 
was  as  tight  as  if  it  were  in  a vice,  he  could  hear 
hissings,  he  was  stifling,  and  heaving  great  sighs. 
Finally  he  consented  to  sit  down  at  the  table. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  left  us  to  put  her  children  to 
bed  and  to  say  the  household  prayers.  All  went  well 
during  her  absence  ; I contrived  that  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  should  win,  and  his  delight  cheered  him  up 
all  at  once.  The  sudden  transition  from  a melan- 
choly which  wrung  from  him  sinister  predictions 
about  himself,  to  the  joy  of  a drunken  man,  to  this 
wild  and  almost  senseless  laughter,  alarmed  and 
chilled  me.  I had  never  seen  him  in  any  attack 
that  was  so  openly  betrayed.  Our  intimate  ac- 
quaintance had  borne  its  fruits  ; he  no  longer  stood 
on  ceremony  with  me.  Each  day,  he  tried  to  en- 
velop me  in  his  tyranny,  to  secure  some  fresh  food 
for  his  temper,  for  it  really  seems  as  if  moral 
maladies  were  creatures  possessing  appetites  and 
instincts,  desiring  to  augment  the  extent  of  their 
dominion,  just  as  a proprietor  wishes  to  increase  his 
estate. 

The  countess  came  down,  drawing  near  to  the 
backgammon  table  to  obtain  more  light  upon  her 


94 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


tapestry,  but  she  sat  down  at  her  frame  in  ill- 
concealed  apprehension.  An  unlucky  throw,  which 
I could  not  prevent,  changed  the  count’s  face  ; it 
turned  from  cheerfulness  to  gloom  ; from  purple  to 
yellow,  his  eyes  wavered.  Then  befell  a final  mis- 
fortune which  I could  neither  anticipate  nor  retrieve. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  threw  a crushing  die  which 
settled  his  defeat.  He  immediately  got  up,  threw  the 
board  at  me,  overturned  the  lamp,  struck  the  console 
with  his  fist,  and  bounced — I cannot  say  walked — out 
of  the  salon.  The  torrent  of  abuse,  curses,  reproaches 
and  incoherent  sentences  that  issued  from  his  mouth 
would  have  led  one  to  believe  in  some  old  time  pos- 
session, as  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Imagine  my  position  ! 

‘ Go  into  the  garden,”  she  said,  pressing  my 
hand. 

I went  out  without  the  count  observing  my  dis- 
appearance. From  the  terrace,  to  which  I slowly 
wended  my  way,  I could  hear  his  outbursts  and 
lamentations  coming  from  his  room  adjoining  the 
dining-room.  Athwart  the  tempest,  I could  also  hear 
the  angel  voice  which,  every  now  and  then, 
ascended  like  a nightingale’s  song  as  the  rain  is 
about  to  cease.  I walked  up  and  down  under  the 
acacias  on  the  loveliest  night  of  the  dying  August, 
waiting  for  the  countess  to  rejoin  me.  She  would 
come,  her  gesture  had  promised  it. 

For  some  days,  an  explanation  had  been  hovering 
between  us,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  burst  out  at 
the  first  word  that  should  start  the  overflowing 
source  within  our  hearts.  What  shame  was  it  that 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


95 


delayed  the  hour  of  our  understanding  ? Perhaps 
she,  as  much  as  1,  loved  that  thrill  resembling  the 
emotions  of  fear,  which  deadens  sensibility,  during 
those  moments  in  which  one  keeps  back  the  life 
which  is  on  the  point  of  breaking  forth,  in  which 
one  hesitates  at  unveiling  one’s  soul,  in  obedience  to 
the  same  feeling  of  modesty  which  agitates  young 
girls  before  they  reveal  themselves  to  the  beloved 
husband.  By  our  accumulated  thoughts  we  had  our- 
selves enhanced  this  first  confidence,  now  become 
indispensable.  An  hour  passed.  I was  sitting  on 
the  brick  balustrade,  when  the  echo  of  her  footsteps, 
mingled  with  the  undulating  sound  of  the  fluttering 
dress,  stirred  the  calm  night  air.  There  are  sensa- 
tions for  which  the  heart  does  not  suffice. 

“ Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  is  now  asleep,”  she  said. 
“ When  he  is  like  this,  I give  him  a cup  of  water  into 
which  are  infused  a few  poppy  heads,  and  the  fits  are 
far  enough  apart  for  this  simple  remedy  always  to 
have  the  same  virtue.  Monsieur,”  she  said,  changing 
her  tone  and  assuming  her  most  persuasive  inflection 
of  voice,  “ an  unfortunate  accident  has  betrayed  to 
you  secrets  that  have  been  hitherto  carefully  guarded, 
promise  me  to  bury  the  memory  of  this  scene  within 
your  heart.  Do  it  for  me,  I entreat  you.  I do  not 
ask  for  any  oath,  say  the.  yes  of  a man  of  honor  and 
I shall  be  satisfied.” 

“ Is  there  any  need  for  me  to  pronounce  that 
yes?”  I said.  “ Have  we  never  understood  each 
other  ? ” 

“Do  not  judge  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  unfavorably  in 


96 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


seeing  the  effects  of  prolonged  sufferings  undergone 
during  the  emigration,”  she  continued.  “To- 
morrow, he  will  be  absolutely  unconscious  of  the 
things  he  has  said,  and  you  will  find  him  good  and 
kind.” 

“ Madame,”  1 replied,  “ stop  trying  to  justify  the 
count,  I will  do  all  that  you  wish.  I would  this  mo- 
ment throw  myself  into  the  Indre,  if  by  so  doing  I 
could  renovate  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  and  give  you 
back  to  a happy  life.  The  only  thing  that  I cannot 
remodel  is  my  opinion,  nothing  is  so  strongly  woven 
within  me.  I would  give  you  my  life,  I cannot  give 
you  my  conscience  ; I need  not  listen  to  it,  but  can 
I prevent  it  from  speaking  ? Now,  in  my  opinion, 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  is — ” 

“ I understand  you,”  she  said,  interrupting  me 
with  unusual  bluntness,  “you  are  right.  The 
count  is  as  nervous  as  a petite-maitresse,”  she 
continued,  as  if  to  soften  the  idea  of  madness  by 
softening  the  word,  “ but  he  is  only  like  this  at  in- 
tervals, at  most  once  a year,  in  the  height  of  sum- 
mer. How  many  evils  the  emigration  has  caused ! 
How  many  fine  lives  ruined  ! He  would  have  been, 
I am  sure,  a grand  warrior,  an  honor  to  his  country.” 

“ I know  it,”  I said,  interrupting  her  in  turn,  and 
giving  her  to  understand  that  it  was  useless  to 
deceive  me. 

She  stopped,  laid  one  of  her  hands  on  her  fore- 
head, and  said  : 

“ Who  is  it,  then,  that  has  thus  brought  you  into  our 
home  ? Can  it  be  that  God  wishes  to  send  me  help, 


IN  THE  SALON  AT  CLOCHEGOURDE 


She  sat  down  at  her  frame  in  ill-concealed  ap- 
prehension. An  unlucky  throw , which  I could  not 
prevent , changed  the  count' s face  ; it  turned  from 
cheerfulness  to  gloom ; from  purple  to  yellow,  his 
eyes  wavered.  Then  befell  a final  misfortune  which 
I coidd  neither  anticipate  nor  retrieve.  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  threw  a crushing  die  which  settled  his 
defeat.  He  immediately  got  up,  threw  the  board 
at  me, — 


- 


. 


■ 


/ 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


97 


a strong  friendship  to  sustain  me  ? ” she  resumed, 
leaning  her  hand  upon  mine  with  emphasis,  “for 
you  are  good,  generous — ” 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  as  if  to  invoke 
some  visible  token  that  should  confirm  her  secret 
hopes,  then  turned  them  back  upon  me.  Electrified 
by  this  look  which  was  shedding  a soul  into  mine,  I 
was  guilty,  according  to  worldly  precedents,  of  want 
of  tact ; but,  with  some  people,  is  it  not  often  gallant 
precipitation  before  danger,  desire  to  forestall  a 
shock,  fear  of  a misfortune  which  does  not  happen, 
and  is  it  not  still  oftener  a sudden  interrogation  of  a 
heart,  a blow  struck  to  find  out  whether  it  resounds 
in  unison  ? Several  thoughts  arose  within  me  like 
lights,  and  counselled  me  to  clear  away  the  stain 
that  was  soiling  my  candor,  just  as  I was  expecting 
complete  initiation. 

“Before  going  any  further/ * I said,  in  a voice 
faltering  from  the  throbs  that  could  easily  be  heard 
in  the  profound  silence  in  which  we  were,  “will  you 
let  me  purify  a memory  of  the  past  ? ” 

“ Hush  ! ” she  said,  hastily,  putting  to  my  lips  a 
finger  which  she  immediately  removed.  She  looked 
at  me  proudly,  as  a woman  too  loftily  situated  to  be 
touched  by  insult,  and  said  in  troubled  tones  : 

“ I know  what  you  would  say.  It  is  about  the 
first,  the  last,  the  only  insult  that  I have  ever 
received  ! Never  mention  that  ball.  If  the  Chris- 
tian has  forgiven  you,  the  woman  still  suffers.” 

“Do  not  be  more  pitiless  than  God/’  I said, 
keeping  back  the  tears  which  came  to  my  eyes. 

7 


98 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ I ought  to  be  more  stern,  I am  weaker,”  she 
replied. 

“But,”  I continued,  in  a childishly  rebellious 
manner,  “ listen,  even  if  it  should  be  for  the  first, 
the  last,  and  the  only  time  in  your  life.” 

“Well,  then!”  she  said,  “speak!  otherwise 
you  will  think  that  I am  afraid  to  hear  you.” 

Feeling  then  that  this  moment  was  unique  in  our 
existence,  I told  her,  in  an  accent  commanding 
attention,  that  the  women  at  the  ball  had  all  left  me 
indifferent  like  those  that  I had  hitherto  seen,  but 
that  upon  seeing  her,  I whose  life  was  so  studious, 
whose' soul  was  so  timid,  I had  been  as  if  carried 
away  by  a frenzy  which  could  only  be  condemned 
by  those  who  had  never  experienced  it,  that  never 
had  heart  of  man  been  so  thoroughly  filled  with 
the  desire  which  no  being  understands  and  which 
conquers  all,  even  death — ” 

“ And  contempt  ? ” she  said,  stopping  me. 

“ Did  you  despise  me  then  ? ” I asked. 

“ Do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  these  things,” 
she  said. 

“ But  let  us  talk  about  them  ! ” 1 replied,  with  an 
exaltation  caused  by  a superhuman  sorrow.  “It  is 
a question  of  my  whole  self,  of  my  secret  life,  of  a 
secret  that  you  must  know ; otherwise,  I shall  die 
of  despair ! Does  it  not  also  concern  you,  who, 
without  knowing  it,  have  been  the  Lady  in  whose 
hands  glitters  the  crown  promised  to  the  victors  in 
the  tourney  ? ” 

1 told  her  of  my  childhood  and  youth,  not  as.  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


99 


have  told  it  to  you,  judging  it  from  a distance  of 
time,  but  with  all  the  passionate  words  of  a youth 
whose  wounds  are  still  fresh.  My  voice  rang  like 
the  axe  of  a woodcutter  in  a forest.  With  a great 
crash  there  fell  before  her  the  dead  years,  the  long 
sufferings  which  had  covered  them  with  leafless 
branches.  In  fevered  words  I depicted  a crowd  of 
terrible  details  which  I have  spared  you.  I spread 
forth  the  treasure  of  my  radiant  vows,  the  virgin 
gold  of  my  desires,  all  the  fiery  heart  preserved  be- 
neath the  frosts  of  those  alps  that  continual  winter 
had  accumulated.  When,  bowed  beneath  the  weight 
of  my  sufferings,  retold  with  the  coals  of  Isaiah,  I 
awaited  some  words  from  this  woman  who  was 
listening  to  me  with  bent  head,  she  lightened  the 
darkness  with  a look,  she  quickened  the  terrestrial 
and  heavenly  words  with  a single  word. 

“ We  have  had  the  same  childhood  ! ” she  said, 
turning  upon  me  a countenance  on  which  glowed  the 
halo  of  martyrs. 

After  a pause  during  which  our  souls  united  in  the 
same  comforting  thought : “ Then  I was  not  alone  in 
my  suffering!  ” the  countess  told  me,  in  the  voice 
she  kept  for  her  beloved  little  ones,  how  she  had 
been  in  the  wrong  for  being  a girl  when  the  sons 
were  dead.  She  explained  to  me  the  distinctions  be- 
tween her  miseries  in  her  position  of  a daughter 
constantly  attached  to  a mother’s  side  and  those  of 
a child  thrown  into  the  world  of  colleges.  My  lone- 
liness had  been  paradise,  compared  to  the  contact  of 
the  grindstone  beneath  which  her  heart  was  cease- 


100 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


lessly  bruised,  until  the  day  when  her  real  mother, 
her  good  aunt  had  saved  her  by  taking  her  away 
from  this  torture,  the  recurring  agonies  of  which  she 
related  to  me.  There  were  inexplicable  bickerings, 
unbearable  to  nervous  natures  who  do  not  flinch  be- 
fore the  blow  of  a dagger  but  who  die  beneath  the 
sword  of  Damocles;  now  it  was  some  grateful  ex- 
pansion checked  by  an  icy  order,  now  a kiss  re- 
ceived with  coldness,  silence  alternately  imposed 
and  upbraided ; suppressed  tears  which  weighed 
upon  her  heart ; in  short,  the  thousand  tyrannies  of 
the  convent,  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  strangers  un- 
der the  semblance  of  a gloriously  exalted  maternity. 
Her  mother  took  pride  in  her,  and  boasted  of  it ; but 
the  next  day  she  paid  dearly  for  the  flattery  that 
was  indispensable  to  the  triumph  of  the  instructress. 
When,  by  dint  of  obedience  and  gentleness,  she 
fancied  she  had  conquered  the  mother’s  heart  and 
that  she  could  unbosom  herself  to  her,  the  tyrant 
would  reappear  armed  with  these  confidences.  A 
spy  would  not  have  been  so  cowardly  or  so  treach- 
erous. All  her  girlish  pleasures,  all  her  holidays, 
had  been  sold  to  her  dearly,  for  she  was  scolded  for 
having  been  happy,  as  she  would  have  been  for 
some  fault.  Never  had  she  been  taught  the  precepts 
of  her  noble  education  with  love,  but  with  offensive 
irony.  She  bore  no  sort  of  grudge  against  her 
mother,  she  only  blamed  herself  for  loving  her  less 
than  she  feared  her.  Perhaps,  this  angel  would 
think,  these  severities  were  necessary  ; had  they 
not  fitted  her  for  her  present  life?  While  listening 


PARK  RIDGE  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  10 1 

to  her,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  harp  of  Job  from 
which  I had  drawn  such  wild  strains,  being  now 
touched  by  Christian  fingers,  responded  to  them  by 
singing  the  litanies  of  the  Virgin  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross. 

“We  lived  in  the  same  sphere  before  we  found 
each  other  here,  you  from  the  East  and  I from  the 
West.” 

She  shook  her  head  with  a hopeless  movement : 
“ The  East  for  you,  the  West  for  me!”  she  said. 
“ You  will  live  to  be  happy,  I shall  die  of  sorrow ! 
Men  create  for  themselves  the  issues  of  their  lives, 
and  mine  is  fixed  for  ever.  No  power  can  break 
that  heavy  chain  to  which  the  woman  is  bound  by  a 
gold  ring,  the  emblem  of  a wife’s  purity.” 

Feeling  then  that  we  were  twins  of  the  same 
womb,  she  did  not  conceive  that  secrets  should  be 
told  by  halves  between  brothers  steeped  in  the  same 
sources.  After  the  sigh  natural  to  unsullied  hearts 
at  the  moment  of  opening,  she  told  me  of  the  early 
days  of  her  marriage,  her  first  deceptions,  all  the 
springtime  of  unhappiness.  Like  myself,  she  knew 
that  trifling  acts  seem  great  to  minds  whose  limpid 
substance  is  entirely  stirred  at  the  least  shock,  in 
the  same  way  that  a stone  thrown  into  a lake  ruffles 
both  the  surface  and  the  depth.  When  she  married, 
she  possessed  her  savings,  that  small  amount  of 
money  which  represents  the  glad  times,  the  thousand 
longings  of  childhood  ; in  a day  of  distress,  she  had 
generously  given  it  without  saying  that  it  comprised 
souvenirs  and  not  pieces  of  gold  ; her  husband  had 


102 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


never  thanked  her  for  them,  he  did  not  know  him- 
self to  be  her  debtor ! In  return  for  this  treasure 
engulfed  in  the  dormant  waters  of  oblivion,  she  had 
not  obtained  that  dewy  glance  which  balances  all, 
which  to  generous  souls  is  like  an  eternal  jewel  the 
gleams  of  which  shine  in  times  of  trial.  How  she 
had  gone  from  sorrow  to  sorrow ! Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  would  forget  to  give  her  the  necessary 
money  for  the  household  ; he  would  rouse  himself 
from  some  dream  when,  after  having  overcome  her 
womanly  timidity,  she  used  to  ask  him  for  any  ; and 
never  once  had  he  spared  her  these  cruel  pangs ! 
What  terror  came  upon  her  when  the  morbid  nature 
of  this  ruined  man  was  revealed ! She  had  been 
crushed  by  the  first  outburst  of  his  mad  rages.  How 
many  painful  reflections  had  she  not  gone  through 
before  admitting  the  nullity  of  her  husband,  that 
commanding  figure  which  sways  the  existence  of  a 
wife  ! What  horrible  calamities  followed  upon  her 
two  confinements  ! What  shock  at  the  sight  of  the 
two  still-born  children  ? What  courage  to  be  able  to 
say  to  herself:  “ I will  breathe  life  into  them!  I 
will  give  new  birth  to  them  every  day  ! ” Then 
what  despair  at  feeling  an  obstacle  in  the  heart  and 
hand  from  whence  women  derive  their  assistance  ! 
She  had  seen  this  immense  misery  unrolling  its 
thorny  savannahs  at  each  difficulty  vanquished.  At 
the  summit  of  each  cliff,  she  had  seen  fresh  deserts 
to  be  crossed,  until  the  day  when  she  should  have 
thoroughly  understood  her  husband,  the  constitu- 
tion of  her  children,  and  the  country  in  which 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


103 


she  was  to  live  ; until  the  day  when,  like  the 
child  snatched  by  Napoleon  from  the  tender 
cares  of  the  home,  she  had  inured  her  feet  to 
marching  in  the  mud  and  snow,  accustomed 
her  forehead  to  the  bullets,  her  whole  person  to  the 
passive  obedience  of  the  soldier.  These  things  that 
I am  recapitulating  to  you,  she  then  described  to  me 
in  all  their  dark  extent,  with  their  train  of  sad  oc- 
currences, of  conjugal  battles  lost,  of  fruitless  en- 
deavors. 

“ In  short, ” she  said  in  conclusion,  “you  would 
have  to  live  here  several  months  to  know  how 
much  trouble  the  improvements  of  Clochegourde 
cost  me,  how  much  fatiguing  wheedling  to  make  him 
consent  to  the  thing  most  useful  to  his  own  interests  ! 
What  childish  malice  takes  possession  of  him  when 
anything  due  to  my  advice  does  not  at  first  succeed  ! 
with  what  delight  he  attributes  what  is  good  to  him- 
self ! what  patience  I need  to  be  ever  listening  to 
complaints  when  I tire  myself  to  death  cheering  his 
hours,  embalming  the  air  he  breathes,  gravelling  and 
decking  the  paths  that  he  has  sown  with  stones  ! 
My  reward  is  this  terrible  refrain  : “I  am  going  to 
die  ! life  is  a burden  ! ” If  he  has  the  pleasure  of 
visitors,  all  is  forgotten,  he  is  gracious  and  polite. 
Why  is  he  not  so  to  his  family  ? I cannot  account 
for  this  want  of  fairness  in  a man  who  at  times  is 
really  chivalrous.  He  is  capable  of  secretly  going 
full  speed  to  fetch  me  an  ornament  from  Paris,  as  he 
did  lately  for  the  ball  in  the  town.  Stingy  about  the 
household,  he  would  be  extravagant  for  me,  did  I 


104 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


wish  it.  It  should  be  the  reverse  ; I need  nothing, 
and  his  establishment  is  expensive.  In  wishing  to 
make  his  life  happy,  and  without  reflecting  that  I 
might  become  a mother,  I have  perhaps  accustomed 
him  to  taking  me  as  his  victim  ; I who,  by  the  use 
of  a little  coaxing  would  be  able  to  lead  him  like  a 
child,  if  I could  stoop  to  play  a role  which  seems  to 
me  disgraceful ! But  the  interests  of  the  house 
oblige  me  to  be  as  calm  and  stern  as  a statue  of 
Justice,  and  yet,  I too,  have  an  unreserved  and 
tender  heart!” 

“Why,”  said  I,  “do  you  not  use  that  influence 
in  making  yourself  mistress  of  him,  so  as  to  gov- 
ern him  ? ” 

“ Were  it  a question  of  myself  only,  I should  be 
able  to  conquer  neither  his  obtuse  silence,  opposed 
for  hours  together  to  sound  arguments,  nor  answer 
his  illogical  remarks,  his  really  childish  reasons.  I 
have  no  courage  before  weakness  or  childishness  ; 
they  can  strike  me  without  resistance ; perhaps  I 
might  oppose  force  to  force,  but  I am  spiritless 
against  those  whom  I pity.  If  it  were  necessary  to 
compel  Madeleine  to  do  anything  in  order  to  save 
her,  I should  die  with  her.  Pity  relaxes  all  my  heart- 
strings and  slackens  my  nerves.  The  violent  shocks 
too  of  the  past  ten  years  have  crushed  me  ; now,  my 
sensibility,  so  often  assailed,  is  sometimes  without 
consistence,  nothing  regenerates  it ; sometimes  the 
strength  with  which  I used  to  bear  the  storms,  fails 
me.  Yes,  sometimes  I am  conquered.  I shall  per- 
ish for  want  of  rest  and  sea  baths  in  which  I might* 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


105 


strengthen  my  fibres.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  will 
have  killed  me,  and  he  will  pine  away  at  my  death.” 

“Why  do  you  not  leave  Clochegourde  for  a few 
months  ? Why  do  you  not  go,  with  your  children, 
to  the  seaside  ? ” 

“In  the  first  place,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  would  feel 
lost  if  I went  away.  Although  he  will  not  believe  in 
his  condition,  he  is  conscious  of  it.  In  him  are  to  be 
met  both  the  man  and  the  invalid,  two  different 
natures  whose  contradictions  account  for  many  eccen- 
tricities ! Then  he  would  have  reason  to  tremble. 
All  would  go  wrong  here.  You  may  have  observed 
me  as  the  mother  of  a family  absorbed  in  protecting 
her  children  from  the  kite  that  hovers  over  them. 
A crushing  task,  augmented  by  the  attentions  exacted 
by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who  always  goes  about 
asking:  “ where  is  Madame?”  That  is  nothing,  I 
am  also  tutor  to  Jacques,  and  governess  to  Madeleine. 
Still  that  is  nothing.  I am  steward  and  bailiff.  You 
will  one  day  understand  the  import  of  my  words 
when  you  find  out  that  the  management  of  an  estate 
is  here  the  most  fatiguing  of  arts.  We  have  but  a 
small  cash  income,  our  farms  are  cultivated  on  half 
profits,  a system  requiring  continual  supervision. 
It  is  necessary  to  sell  one’s  own  grain,  animals, 
and  crops  of  every  kind.  For  competitors  we  have 
our  own  farmers,  who  come  to  terms  at  the  tavern 
with  the  consumers,  and  settle  the  prices  after  having 
been  the  first  to  sell.  I should  bore  you  if  I were  to 
explain  the  thousand  difficulties  of  our  agriculture. 
However  great  my  zeal,  I cannot  watch  to  see  that 


io6 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


our  farmers  do  not  improve  their  own  lands  with  our 
manure  ; I can  neither  go  and  see  whether  our  reap- 
ers are  in  collusion  with  them  at  the  time  of  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  crops,  nor  tell  the  opportune  moment 
for  sale.  Now,  if  you  come  to  think  of  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf’s  weak  memory,  of  the  trouble  you  have 
seen  me  take  to  make  him  think  of  his  duties,  you 
will  understand  the  heaviness  of  my  burden,  and  the 
impossibility  of  laying  it  aside  for  a moment.  Were 
I to  go  away,  we  should  be  ruined.  Nobody  would 
listen  to  him  ; the  greater  part  of  the  time,  his  orders 
are  inconsistent ; besides,  nobody  loves  him,  he  is  too 
much  of  a grumbler,  and  shows  too  much  of  the 
despot ; then,  like  all  weak  persons,  he  listens  too 
readily  to  his  inferiors  to  inspire  those  around  him 
with  the  affection  that  links  a household  together. 
If  I were  to  go,  not  one  of  the  servants  would  stay 
here  a week.  So  you  see  that  I am  as  much  a fix- 
ture at  Clochegourde  as  are  these  leaden  bouquets 
on  our  roof.  I have  had  no  mental  reservation  with 
you,  monsieur.  The  whole  country  is  unaware  of 
the  secrets  of  Clochegourde,  and  now  you  know 
them.  Say  nothing  but  what  is  good  and  kind  about 
them  and  you  will  have  my  esteem,  my  gratitude,” 
she  added  further  in  a softened  voice.  “ On  those 
terms,  you  may  always  come  back  to  Clochegourde, 
and  you  will  meet  with  friendly  hearts.” 

“ But,”  I said,  “ I have  never  suffered ! You 
only — ” 

“ No,”  she  resumed,  with  a cold  smile,  “do  not 
let  this  disclosure  astonish  you,  it  shows  you  life 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


107 


as  it  is,  and  not  as  your  imagination  has  led  you 
to  hope.  We  all  have  our  faults  and  our  good 
qualities.  Had  I married  some  spendthrift,  he 
would  have  ruined  me.  Had  I been  given  to  some 
young  man,  ardent  and  voluptuous,  he  would  have 
had  successes,  I might  perhaps  not  have  known  how 
to  keep  him,  he  would  have  abandoned  me,  and  I 
should  have  died  of  jealousy.  I am  jealous  ! ” she 
said  with  an  accent  of  exaltation  like  a peal  of 
thunder  in  a dying  storm.  “Well,  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  loves  me  as  much  as  he  is  capable  of  lov- 
ing ; all  that  his  heart  contains  of  affection  he  pours 
out  at  my  feet,  as  the  Madeleine  emptied  the  re- 
mainder of  her  perfumes  at  the  feet  of  the  Saviour. 
Depend  upon  it ! a life  of  love  is  a fatal  exception  to 
the  terrestrial  law  ; all  flowers  perish,  and  great  joys 
have  an  evil  morrow,  when  they  have  a morrow. 
The  true  life  is  one  of  anguish  ; its  image  is  in  this 
nettle,  grown  at  the  foot  of  this  terrace,  and  which, 
without  sun,  remains  green  upon  its  stalk.  Here,  as 
in  the  countries  of  the  North,  there  are  smiles  in  the 
sky,  rare,  it  is  true,  but  which  well  repay  the  suffer- 
ings. After  all,  do  not  the  women  who  are  exclu- 
sively mothers  attach  themselves  through  the  sacri- 
fices rather  than  through  the  pleasures  ? Here,  I 
draw  down  upon  myself  the  storms  that  I see  about 
to  burst  upon  the  servants  or  my  children,  and  in 
averting  them  1 experience  an  indescribable  feeling 
which  gives  me  a secret  strength.  The  resignation 
of  the  day  before  has  always  paved  the  way  for  that 
of  the  morrow.  Besides  God  does  not  leave  me  en- 


io8 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


tirely  without  hope.  If  at  first  my  children’s  health 
disheartened  me,  now,  the  older  they  grow,  the  better 
they  are.  After  all,  our  home  is  improved,  our  fortune 
restored.  Who  knows  whether  through  me  the  old 
age  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  may  not  be  happy  ? 
Depend  upon  it!  the  being  who  presents  himself  be- 
fore the  great  Judge,  bearing  a green  palm,  and 
bringing  to  Him  comforted  those  who  cursed  life, 
that  being  will  have  converted  his  sorrows  into  de- 
lights. If  my  sufferings  help  the  happiness  of  the 
family,  are  they  really  sufferings  ? ” 

“Yes,”  I said,  “ but  they  were  necessary  as  were 
mine  in  order  to  teach  one  to  appreciate  the  flavor 
of  the  fruit  ripened  upon  our  rocks;  now,  perhaps 
we  shall  taste  it  together,  perhaps  we  shall  admire 
its  wonders,  those  torrents  of  affection  with  which  it 
inundates  the  soul,  that  sap  which  revives  the  yel- 
lowing leaves.  Then  life  is  no  more  a burden,  it  no 
longer  belongs  to  us — My  God  ! do  you  not  under- 
stand me?  ” I continued,  using  the  mystic  language 
to  which  our  religious  education  had  accustomed  us. 
“ Consider  the  way  by  which  we  have  come  to- 
ward each  other ; what  magnet  has  guided  us  over 
the  ocean  of  bitter  waters,  toward  the  source  of 
sweet  water,  flowing  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains 
over  sparkling  sand,  between  two  green  and  flowery 
banks.  Have  we  not,  like  the  Magi,  followed  the 
same  star?  Here  we  are  before  the  cradle  from 
which  awakes  a divine  child  who  will  shoot  his 
arrows  into  the  face  of  the  naked  trees,  who  will  re- 
animate the  world  for  us  with  his  joyous  cries,  who 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  109 

by  continual  pleasures  will  impart  some  zest  to 
life,  restore  to  the  nights  their  sleep,  to  the  days  their 
gayety.  Who  then  every  year  has  been  tightening 
new  bonds  between  us  ? Are  we  not  more  than 
brother  and  sister  ? Do  not  ever  loosen  that  which 
Heaven  has  united.  The  sufferings  of  which  you 
speak  were  the  seeds  scattered  in  abundance  by  the 
hand  of  the  sower  so  as  to  produce  the  harvest 
already  gilded  by  the  most  beautiful  of  suns.  Come  ! 
come  ! Shall  we  not  go  together  and  gather  it  all 
ear  by  ear  ? What  a spirit  is  within  me,  that  I dare 
speak  to  you  so  ! Answer  me  then  ! or  I will  never 
cross  the  Indre  again.” 

“You  have  spared  me  the  word  lave”  she  said, 
interrupting  me  in  a stern  voice,  “ but  you  speak  of 
a feeling  that  I know  nothing  of,  and  which  is  not 
lawful  for  me.  You  are  a child,  I forgive  you  once 
more,  but  for  the  last  time.  You  must  know,  mon- 
sieur, that  my  heart  is  as  if  intoxicated  with  mater- 
nity ! I do  not  love  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  through  any 
social  duty,  nor  through  any  motive  of  the  eternal 
bliss  to  be  gained,  but  through  an  irresistible  feeling 
which  binds  him  to  all  the  fibres  of  my  heart.  Was 
I coerced  into  my  marriage  ? It  was  settled  by 
my  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate.  Did  it  not  lay 
with  the  women  to  atone  for  the  evils  of  the  times, 
to  comfort  those  who  rushed  into  the  breach  and  re- 
turned wounded  ? What  am  I to  say  to  you  ? I 
felt  an  indescribably  selfish  satisfaction  in  seeing 
that  you  amused  him  : is  not  that  pure  maternity  ? 
Has  not  my  confession  sufficiently  shown  you  the 


no 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


three  children  whom  I must  never  fail,  upon  whom  I 
must  sprinkle  a refreshing  dew  and  cause  my  spirit 
to  shine,  without  allowing  the  least  particle  to  de- 
teriorate ? Do  not  embitter  a mother’s  milk  ! Al- 
though the  wife  in  me  may  be  invulnerable,  do  not 
speak  to  me  in  this  way  again.  If  you  do  not  re- 
spect this  very  simple  prohibition,  I warn  you  that 
admission  into  this  house  will  be  for  ever  denied 
you.  I used  to  believe  in  pure  friendships, in  voluntary 
fraternity,  which  is  safer  than  compulsory  frater- 
nity. All  illusion  ! I wished  for  a friend  who 
should  not  be  a judge,  a friend  to  listen  to  me  in 
those  moments  of  weakness  wherein  the  voice  that 
reproaches  is  a deadly  voice,  a good  friend  with 
whom  I should  have  nothing  to  fear.  Youth  is 
noble,  without  falsehood,  capable  of  sacrifice,  dis- 
interested ; when  I saw  your  persistence,  I believed, 
I confess,  in  some  design  of  Heaven  ; I believed 
that  I should  have  a soul  that  would  be  for  myself 
alone  just  as  a priest  belongs  to  all,  a heart  into 
which  I could  pour  out  all  my  sorrows  when  they 
are  overwhelming,  cry,  when  my  cries  are  irresist- 
ible and  would  choke  me  did  I continue  to  suppress 
them.  In  this  way  my  existence,  so  valuable  to 
these  children,  might  have  been  prolonged  until 
Jacques  had  become  a man.  But  perhaps  that  is 
being  too  selfish  ? Can  Petrarch’s  Laura  be  again  re- 
newed ? I was  mistaken.  God  does  not  will  it. 

I must  die  at  my  post,  like  the  lonely  soldier. 
My  confessor  is  rough,  austere ; and — my  aunt  is 
dead.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


III 


Two  great  tears  lightened  by  a moonbeam  fell 
from  her  eyes,  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  reached 
the  bottom  ; but  I stretched  out  my  hand  just  in 
time  to  catch  them,  and  drank  them  with  a pious 
avidity  excited  by  those  words  that  were  already 
signed  with  ten  years  of  secret  tears,  wasted  sen- 
sitiveness, constant  cares,  perpetual  alarms,  the 
most  exalted  heroism  of  your  sex ! She  looked  at 
me  with  an  air  of  mild  amazement. 

“ This,”  I said,  “ is  the  first,  the  holy  communion 
of  love.  Yes,  I have  just  partaken  of  your  sorrows, 
and  united  myself  with  your  soul,  as  we  become 
united  with  Christ  by  drinking  His  Divine  sub- 
stance. To  love  without  hope  is  still  happiness. 
Ah  ! what  woman  upon  earth  could  have  given  me 
so  great  a joy  as  I have  had  in  drinking  these  tears!  I 
accept  this  contract  which  can  only  result  in  suffer- 
ing to  myself.  I give  myself  to  you  unreservedly, 
and  will  be  whatever  you  wish  me  to  be.” 

She  stopped  me  with  a gesture,  and  said  in  her 
deep  voice  : 

“ I consent  to  this  compact,  if  you  will  never 
strain  the  links  that  bind  us  together.” 

“ Yes,”  I said,  “ but  the  less  you  grant,  the  more 
securely  must  I possess.” 

“You  begin  with  mistrust,”  she  replied,  con- 
veying the  sadness  of  doubt. 

“ No,  but  with  unalloyed  delight.  Listen  ! I want 
some  name  for  you  which  shall  belong  to  no  one 
else,  as  should  the  feeling  that  we  consecrate  to  each 
other.” 


1 12 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ That  is  a great  deal,”  she  said,  “ but  I am  less 
mean  than  you  think.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  calls  me 
Blanche.  Only  one  person  in  the  world,  the  one  1 
loved  best,  my  lovely  aunt,  used  to  call  me  Henriette. 
So  I will  be  once  more  Henriette  for  you.” 

I took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  yielded  it  to  me 
with  that  confidence  which  renders  woman  so 
superior  to  ourselves,  a confidence  which  over- 
whelms us.  She  leaned  upon  the  brick  balustrade 
and  looked  at  the  Indre. 

“ Are  you  not  wrong,  my  friend,”  she  said,  “ to 
go  to  the  end  of  the  course  at  the  first  leap  ? At 
your  first  draught  you  have  exhausted  the  cup  held 
out  in  sincerity.  But  a true  feeling  is  not  to  be  divided, 
it  must  be  whole,  or  it  does  not  exist.  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf,”  she  said  after  a moment’s  silence, 
“ is  above  all  things  loyal  and  proud.  Perhaps  you 
might  be  tempted,  for  my  sake,  to  forget  what  he 
has  said ; if  he  knows  nothing  about  it,  I myself 
to-morrow  will  inform  him  of  it.  Let  some  time 
elapse  without  showing  yourself  at  Clochegourde,  he 
will  respect  you  all  the  more.  Next  Sunday,  coming 
out  of  church,  he  will  go  up  to  you  himself  ; I know 
him,  he  will  blot  out  his  faults  and  will  like  you  for 
having  treated  him  as  a man  who  is  responsible  for 
his  words  and  actions.” 

“ Five  days  without  seeing  you,  without  hearing 
you  ! ” 

“ Never  put  such  warmth  into  what  you  say  to 
me,”  she  said. 

Twice  we  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace  in* 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


113 

silence.  Then  she  said  in  a tone  of  command  which 
showed  me  how  she  was  taking  possession  of  my 
soul  : 

“ It  is  late,  we  must  separate.” 

I tried  to  kiss  her  hand,  she  hesitated,  gave  it  me 
and  said  in  a beseeching  voice  : 

“ Do  not  take  it  unless  I give  it  to  you,  leave  me 
my  free-will ; if  not,  l should  be  a thing  belonging  to 
you,  and  that  must  not  be.” 

“Good-bye,”  I said. 

I left  by  the  small  door  from  below,  which  she 
opened  for  me.  Just  as  she  was  about  to  close  it, 
she  opened  it  again,  and  held  out  her  hand,  saying  : 

“ Indeed,  you  have  been  very  good  to-night,  you 
have  comforted  my  whole  future ; take  it,  my 
friend,  take  it  ! ” 

I kissed  her  hand  again  and  again  ; and,  when  I 
raised  my  eyes,  I saw  tears  in  hers.  She  went 
back  to  the  terrace,  and  looked  at  me  again  for  a 
moment  across  the  meadow.  When  I reached  the 
path  to  Frapesle,  I once  more  saw  her  white  dress 
glistening  in  the  moonlight ; then,  a few  seconds 
later,  a light  illumined  her  room. 

“Oh!  my  Henriette  ! ” I said  to  myself,  “to 
you  is  given  the  purest  love  that  has  ever  shone 
upon  earth  ! ” 

I got  back  to  Frapesle,  turning  round  at  every  step. 
I felt  within  me  I know  not  what  unutterable  con- 
tent. A brilliant  career  was  at  last  unfolding  itself 
before  the  devotion  that  swells  every  youthful  heart, 
and  which,  with  me,  had  been  so  long  an  inert  force  ! 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


1 14 

Like  the  priest  who,  by  a single  step,  advances  into 
a new  life,  I was  consecrated,  dedicated.  A mere 
“Yes,  madame  ! ” had  bound  me  to  keep  for  myself 
alone  an  overpowering  love  in  my  heart,  never  to 
impose  upon  friendship  in  order  to  lead  this  woman 
gently  into  love.  Within  me  were  sounding  the 
confused  voices  of  all  the  lofty  sentiments  awakened. 
Before  returning  to  the  confinement  of  a room,  I 
wanted  to  linger  voluptuously  beneath  the  star-sown 
azure,  again  to  listen  inwardly  to  the  strains  of  the 
wounded  dove,  to  the  simple  tones  of  this  guileless 
confidence,  to  summon  up  in  the  air  the  perfumes  of 
that  soul,  all  of  which  were  to  come  to  me.  How 
great  she  seemed  to  me,  this  woman,  with  her  con- 
summate forgetfulness  of  self , her  saintly  bearing 
with  injured,  weak  or  suffering  beings,  and  her 
devotion  lightened  of  the  legal  fetters  ! She  was 
there,  serene  upon  her  stake  of  martyr  and  saint ! 
I was  admiring  her  face,  which  appeared  to  me  in 
the  midst  of  the  darkness,  when  I suddenly  fancied 
I could  divine  a meaning  in  her  words,  a mysterious 
significance  which  made  her  seem  wholly  sublime  to 
me.  Perhaps  she  wanted  me  to  be  to  her  what 
she  was  to  her  little  world ; perhaps  she  wanted 
to  draw  her  strength  and  comfort  from  me,  placing 
me  thus  in  her  sphere,  upon  her  own  footing  or 
higher.  The  stars,  so  say  some  bold  constructors 
of  the  universe,  impart  light  and  movement  to  each 
other  in  this  way.  This  thought  suddenly  uplifted 
me  to  ethereal  heights.  I found  myself  back  in  the 
heaven  of  my  old  dreams,  and  1 solved  the  sorrows 


THE  LILY  . OF  THE  VALLEY  II  5 

of  my  childhood  in  the  immense  happiness  in  which 
I was  floating. 

Tear-quenched  spirits,  unrequited  hearts,  saintly, 
unknown  Clarissa  Harlowes,  repudiated  children, 
innocent  outcasts,  all  of  you  who  have  entered  life 
by  its  deserts,  you  who  have  everywhere  met  with 
chilling  faces,  locked  hearts,  sealed  ears,  never  pity 
yourselves  ! You  alone  can  know  joy  in  its  infini- 
tude when  for  you  a heart  uncloses,  an  ear  hearkens, 
a glance  responds.  A single  day  wipes  out  the  evil 
days.  The  pangs,  the  meditations,  the  hopeless- 
ness, the  melancholy  passed  but  not  forgotten,  are 
so  many  links  whereby  the  soul  fastens  itself  to  the 
confiding  soul. 

Mistress  of  our  repressed  desires,  a woman  then 
inherits  the  sighs  and  the  lost  loves,  she  restores 
ennobled  all  the  betrayed  affections,  she  explains 
the  previous  sorrows  as  being  the  compensation  ex- 
acted by  fate  for  the  eternal  blissfulness  she  bestows 
upon  the  soul’s  betrothal  day.  The  angels  alone 
utter  the  new  name  by  which  this  holy  love  should 
be  called,  in  the  same  way  as  you,  beloved  martyrs, 
will  well  know  what  Madame  de  Mortsauf  suddenly 
became  to  me,  poor  and  alone  ! 


This  scene  took  place  one  Tuesday  ; I waited  until 
Sunday  without  crossing  the  Indre  in  my  walks. 
During  these  five  days,  great  events  happened  at 
Clochegourde.  The  count  received  the  commission 
of  Brigadier-General,  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis,  and 
a pension  of  four  thousand  francs.  The  Due  de  Le- 
noncourt-Givry,  appointed  a peer  of  France,  recov- 
ered two  forests,  resumed  his  duty  at  court,  and  his 
wife  came  into  her  unsold  estates  which  had  formed 
part  of  the  domain  of  the  Imperial  crown.  Thus  the 
Comtesse  de  Mortsauf  became  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  of  Maine.  Her  mother  had  just  brought 
her  one  hundred  thousand  francs  saved  out  of  the 
revenues  of  Givry,  the  amount  of  her  dowry  which 
had  never  been  paid,  and  which  the  count  never 
mentioned,  in  spite  of  his  distress.  In  the  things 
of  outward  life,  the  conduct  of  this  man  attested  the 
proudest  disinterestedness.  By  adding  his  savings 
to  this  sum,  the  count  was  able  to  buy  two  neigh- 
boring estates  which  were  worth  about  nine  thou- 
sand francs  a year.  As  his  son  was  to  succeed  to 
his  grandfather’s  peerage,  he  suddenly  thought  of 
establishing  an  entail  which  should  consist  of  the  ter- 
(»7) 


1 18  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

ritorial  wealth  of  both  families  without  injuring  Ma- 
deleine, who,  through  the  influence  of  the  Due  de 
Lenoncourt  would  doubtless  make  a good  marriage. 
These  arrangements  and  this  good  luck  shed  some 
balm  upon  the  emigrants  wounds.  The  Duchesse 
de  Lenoncourt  at  Clochegourde  was  an  event  in  the 
country.  I reflected  mournfully  that  this  woman 
was  a grande  dame,  and  then  I beheid  in  her 
daughter  the  spirit  of  caste  which  in  my  eyes  veiled 
the  nobility  of  her  feelings.  What  was  I,  poor  as  I 
was,  with  no  other  prospect  than  my  courage  and  my 
faculties?  I never  thought  of  the  consequences  of 
the  Restoration  either  for  myself,  or  for  others. 

On  Sunday,  from  the  private  chapel  where  I sat 
in  church  with  Monsieur,  Madame  de  Chessel  and 
the  Abbe  de  Quelus,  I cast  hungry  looks  into  an- 
other side  chapel  where  the  duchess  and  her  daughter, 
the  count  and  the  children  were.  The  straw 
hat  which  hid  my  idol  from  me  did  not  waver,  and 
this  oblivion  of  myself  seemed  to  attract  me  more 
keenly  than  all  the  past.  This  great  Henriette  de 
Lenoncourt,  now  my  beloved  Henriette,  whose  life 
I longed  to  deck  with  flowers,  was  praying  fervent- 
ly ; faith  imparted  to  her  attitude  an  indescribable 
lowliness  and  prostration,  the  pose  of  a religious 
statue,  which  touched  me  deeply. 

According  to  the  custom  of  village  curacies, 
vespers  were  to  be  said  some  time  after  mass. 
Upon  coming  out  of  church,  Madame  de  Chessel 
naturally  proposed  that  her  neighbors  should  spend 
the  two  hours’  interval  at  Frapesle,  instead  of  cross- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


1 19 

ing  the  Indre  and  the  meadow  twice  in  the  heat. 
The  invitation  was  accepted.  Monsieur  de  Chessel 
gave  his  arm  to  the  duchess,  Madame  de  Chessel 
took  that  of  the  count,  I offered  mine  to  the 
countess,  and  for  the  first  time  I felt  this  beautiful 
cool  arm  at  my  side.  During  the  return  from  the 
parish  church  to  Frapesle,  a walk  which  led  through 
the  woods  of  Sache  where  the  light  filtering  through 
the  leaves  upon  the  gravelled  paths  produced  those 
pretty  touches  resembling  painted  silk,  I had  sensa- 
tions of  pride  and  thoughts  which  gave  me  violent 
palpitations. 

“ What  is  the  matter?  ” she  said  after  walking  a 
few  steps  in  a silence  that  1 dared  not  break, 
“ Your  heart  beats  too  fast — ” 

“ I have  heard  of  events  which  bring  you  good 
fortune/’  I said,  “and,  like  all  who  love  well,  I 
have  vague  fears.  Will  not  your  grandeur  injure 
your  friendships?  ” 

“ I ? ” she  said,  “ fie  ! Another  such  idea,  and  I 
should  not  despise  you,  I should  have  forgotten  you 
for  ever.” 

I looked  at  her,  possessed  by  a rapture  which  must 
have  been  infectious. 

“ We  profit  by  favor  of  the  laws  that  we  have 
neither  promoted  nor  solicited,  but  we  shall  be 
neither  beggars  nor  greedy  ; besides,  you  know  very 
well,”  she  continued,  “that  neither  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  nor  myself  can  leave  Clochegourde.  By  my  ad- 
vice, he  has  refused  the  command  in  the  Red  House  to 
which  he  was  entitled.  It  is  enough  for  us  that  my 


120 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


father  should  have  his  post ! Our  unnatural  mod- 
eration, ” she  said,  with  a bitter  smile,  “has  already 
been  of  great  use  to  our  child.  The  king,  upon 
whom  my  father  is  in  attendance,  has  very  gra- 
ciously said  that  he  will  carry  over  to  Jacques  the 
favor  that  we  have  declined.  The  education  of 
Jacques,  which  has  to  be  considered,  is  now  the 
subject  of  a serious  discussion  ; he  will  represent 
two  houses,  the  Lenoncourts  and  the  Mortsaufs.  1 
can  but  have  ambition  for  him,  and  so  now  my 
anxieties  are  increased.  Not  only  must  Jacques 
live,  but  he  must  also  grow  to  be  worthy  of  his 
name,  two  obligations  which  thwart  each  other. 
Hitherto,  1 have  been  able  to  give  him  sufficient 
education  by  proportioning  the  studies  to  his  powers, 
but,  to  begin  with,  where  am  I to  find  a tutor  who 
suits  me  ? Then,  later  on,  what  friend  will  guard 
him  for  me  in  that  horrible  Paris,  where  all  is  a snare 
for  the  soul  and  a danger  to  the  body  ? My  friend,” 
she  said  in  a voice  of  emotion,  “to  look  at  your 
brow  and  eyes,  who  would  not  know  you  to  be  one 
of  those  birds  who  must  live  in  the  heights  ? Take 
your  flight,  be  one  day  the  guardian  of  our  dear 
child.  Go  to  Paris  ; if  your  brother  and  your  father 
do  not  help  you  at  all,  our  family,  particularly  my 
mother,  who  possesses  a genius  for  affairs,  would 
certainly  be  very  influential ; profit  by  our  credit ! 
Then  you  will  lack  neither  countenance  nor  assist- 
ance in  the  profession  that  you  select ! so  invest  all 
the  superfluity  of  your  powers  in  an  exalted  ambi- 
tion.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


121 


“I  understand  you/’  I said,  interrupting  her, 
“ my  ambition  will  become  my  mistress.  I do 
not  need  this  to  become  wholly  yours.  No,  I will 
not  be  rewarded  for  my  good  behavior  here  by 
favors  yonder.  I will  go,  I will  become  great  alone, 
by  myself.  I would  accept  all  from  you  ; from  others 
I wish  nothing. ” 

“ Childishness  ! ” she  said  in  a whisper,  but  with 
an  ill-concealed  smile  of  satisfaction. 

“ Besides,  I have  dedicated  myself,”  I said.  “ In 
meditating  upon  our  position,  I have  thought  of 
attaching  myself  to  you  by  bonds  that  can  never  be 
undone.” 

She  trembled  slightly  and  stopped  to  look  at  me. 

“What  do  you  mean?”  she  said,  allowing  the 
two  couples  who  were  preceding  us  to  go  on,  and 
keeping  her  children  beside  her. 

“ Well,”  I replied,  “ tell  me  frankly  how  you  wish 
me  to  love  you.” 

“ Love  me  as  did  my  aunt,  whose  rights  I gave 
you  by  authorizing  you  to  call  me  by  the  name  which 
she  had  chosen  for  herself  from  amongst  my  names.” 

“ Then  I will  love  without  hope,  with  complete 
devotion.  Well  then,  yes,  I will  do  for  you  what 
man  does  for  God.  Have  you  not  asked  it  ? I will 
enter  a seminary,  I will  leave  it  a priest,  and  I will 
bring  up  Jacques.  Your  Jacques  will  be  like  another 
me  : political  conceptions,  thought,  energy,  patience, 
I will  give  him  all.  In  this  way,  I shall  live  close  to 
you,  without  my  love — set  in  religion  like  a silver 
image  in  crystal — being  suspected.  You  need  fear 


122 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


none  of  that  violent  ardor  which  lays  hold  of  a man 
and  by  which  I have  once  already  allowed  myself  to 
be  overcome.  I will  waste  away  in  the  flame,  and 
will  love  you  with  a purified  love.” 

She  turned  pale,  and  said  in  hurried  words : 
“ Felix,  do  not  involve  yourself  in  any  ties  which, 
some  day,  would  be  an  obstacle  to  your  happiness. 
I should  die  of  grief  at  having  been  the  cause  of  this 
suicide.  Child,  is  then  the  hopelessness  of  love  a 
vocation  ? Wait  for  the  trials  of  life  before  you 
judge  of  life  ; 1 insist  upon  it,  I command  it.  Wed 
neither  the  church  nor  a woman,  do  not  marry  in 
any  way,  1 forbid  it.  Remain  free.  You  are  one 
and  twenty.  You  hardly  know  what  the  future 
holds  for  you.  Heavens  ! have  I misjudged  you  ? 
And  yet,  I have  thought  that  two  months  was  enough 
in  which  to  know  certain  people.” 

“ What  is  your  hope  ? ” 1 said,  flashing  lightning 
from  my  eyes. 

“ My  friend,  accept  my  help,  train  yourself,  be 
successful  and  you  will  know  what  my  hope  is.  In 
short,”  she  said,  apparently  betraying  a secret, 
“ never  release  Madeleine’s  hand,  which  you  are 
at  this  moment  holding.”  She  had  bent  toward 
my  ear  to  say  these  words,  which  proved  how  much 
she  was  engrossed  in  my  future. 

“ Madeleine  ? ” I said,  “ never  ! ” 

These  two  words  threw  us  back  into  a silence  full 
of  agitation.  Our  minds  were  a prey  to  those  up- 
heavals which  furrow  them  in  such  a way  as  to 
leave  eternal  traces.  We  were  in  sight  of  a wooden 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


123 


door  which  led  into  the  park  of  Frapesle,  and  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  I yet  can  see  its  two  decayed  pilasters 
covered  with  creepers  and  moss,  with  weeds  and 
briars. 

All  of  a sudden  an  idea,  that  of  the  count’s  death, 
flashed  like  an  arrow  through  my  brain,  and  I said  : 

“ I understand  you.” 

“ That  is  a good  thing,”  she  replied,  in  a tone 
which  showed  me  that  I was  attributing  a thought 
to  her  which  she  would  never  have  had. 

Her  purity  wrung  from  me  a tear  of  admiration 
which  the  selfishness  of  passion  much  embittered. 
Looking  into  my  own  heart,  I reflected  that  she  did 
not  love  me  enough  to  desire  her  freedom.  So  long 
as  love  shrinks  from  crime,  it  seems  to  us  to  have 
limits,  and  love  should  be  infinite.  I had  a terrible 
contraction  of  the  heart. 

“ She  does  not  love  me!”  I thought. 

To  hide  what  was  in  my  mind,  I kissed  Made- 
leine’s hair. 

“I  am  afraid  of  your  mother,”  I said  to  the 
countess  by  way  of  resuming  conversation. 

“ And  1 too,”  she  replied  with  a gesture  full  of 
childishness,  “ but  remember  always  to  address  her 
as  madame  la  duchesse  and  to  speak  to  her  in  the 
third  person.  Young  people  of  the  present  day  have 
lost  the  habit  of  these  polite  formalities,  do  you  revive 
them  ; do  this  for  me.  Besides,  it  is  such  good  taste 
to  show  respect  to  women,  whatever  their  age,  and  to 
recognize  social  distinctions  without  question  ! Is 
not  the  honor  that  you  show  to  established  superior- 


124 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


ity  the  guarantee  for  that  which  is  owing  to  your- 
self ? Everything  in  society  is  federative.  The 
Cardinal  de  la  Rovere  and  Raphael  d’Urbin  were 
once  two  equally  revered  powers.  In  your  colleges 
you  have  imbibed  the  milk  of  the  Revolution,  and 
your  political  ideas  may  be  thereby  affected ; but, 
as  you  grow  older,  you  will  find  out  how  the  prin- 
ciples of  a badly  defined  liberty  are  powerless  to 
create  the  happiness  of  nations.  Before  reflecting, 
as  a Lenoncourt,  as  to  what  an  aristocracy  is  or 
should  be,  my  common  sense  as  a peasant  tells  me 
that  societies  only  exist  by  hierarchy.  You  are  at  a 
time  of  life  when  one  must  make  a good  choice  ! 
Follow  your  own  party.  Particularly/ ' she  added, 
laughing,  “when  it  triumphs.  ” 

l was  deeply  touched  by  these  words  in  which 
political  penetration  was  hidden  beneath  the  warmth 
of  affection,  a combination  which  gives  women  so 
great  a power  of  fascination  ,*  they  all  know  how  to 
lend  the  forms  of  sentiment  to  the  most  pointed  argu- 
ments. It  seemed  as  if,  in  her  desire  to  justify  the 
count's  actions,  Henriette  had  anticipated  the  re- 
flections that  would  arise  in  my  mind  when,  for  the 
first  time,  I saw  the  effects  of  toadyism.  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf,  king  in  his  castle,  encircled  by  his 
historic  halo  had  assumed  imposing  proportions  in  my 
eyes,  and  I confess  that  I was  singularly  astonished 
at  the  distance  he  established  between  the  duchess 
and  himself  by  manners  that  were  at  least  obse- 
quious. A slave  has  his  vanity,  he  will  obey  none 
but  the  greatest  of  despots  ; I felt  as  if  humiliated 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


125 


myself  to  see  the  abjection  of  him  who  made  me 
tremble  by  dominating  all  my  love.  This  inward 
impression  enabled  me  to  understand  the  agony  of 
those  women  whose  noble  minds  are  yoked  to  that 
of  a man  whose  meannesses  they  bury  daily.  Re- 
spect is  a barrier  which  protects  both  high  and  low, 
each  from  his  own  side  can  look  the  other  in  the 
face.  I was  respectful  to  the  duchess  because  of 
my  youth  ; but,  where  others  saw  a duchess,  I be- 
held the  mother  of  my  Henriette  and  invested  my 
homage  with  a kind  of  piety.  We  entered  the  big 
courtyard  of  Frapesle,  where  we  found  the  party. 
The  Comte  de  Mortsauf  presented  me  very  graciously 
to  the  duchess,  who  scrutinized  me  with  an  air  of 
coldness  and  reserve.  Madame  de  Lenoncourt  was 
then  a woman  of  fifty-six,  perfectly  preserved  and 
with  stately  manners.  When  I saw  her  hard  blue 
eye,  her  furrowed  temples,  her  thin,  emaciated  face, 
her  straight  commanding  figure,  her  rare  gestures, 
her  tawny  whiteness  which  was  repeated  so  con- 
spicuously in  her  daughter,  I recognized  the  frigid 
race  from  which  my  mother  had  originated,  as 
promptly  as  a mineralogist  recognizes  Swedish  iron. 
Her  language  was  that  of  the  old  Court,  she  pro- 
nounced the  oit  as  ait  and  said  frait  for  froid,  porteux 
instead  of  porteurs.  I was  neither  fawning  nor  stiff : 
I behaved  so  well,  that  on  the  way  to  vespers  the 
countess  whispered  : 

“ You  are  perfect ! ” 

The  count  came  to  me,  took  my  hand  and  said  : 
“ We  are  not  angry,  Felix  ? If  I showed  some  has- 


126 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


tiness,  you  must  forgive  your  old  friend.  We  shall 
probably  stay  here  to  dinner,  and  we  invite  you  for 
Thursday,  the  day  before  the  duchess  leaves.  1 am 
going  to  Tours  to  wind  up  some  business  matters. 
Do  not  neglect  Clochegourde.  My  mother-in-law  is 
an  acquaintance  whom  1 advise  you  to  cultivate. 
Her  salon  will  lead  the  fashion  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  She  has  the  traditions  of  good  breeding, 
she  possesses  vast  information,  knows  the  coat-of- 
arms  of  the  oldest  as  well  as  the  latest  nobleman  in 
Europe.  ” 

The  count’s  good  taste,  perchance  the  counsel  of 
his  domestic  genius,  was  apparent  in  the  novel  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  was  placed  by  the  triumph 
of  his  cause.  He  showed  neither  arrogance  nor 
offensive  civility,  he  was  unaffected,  and  the  duchess 
put  on  no  patronizing  airs.  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Chessel  gratefully  accepted  the  invitation  to  dinner 
on  the  following  Thursday.  The  duchess  was  pleased 
with  me,  and  her  looks  told  me  that  she  was  examin- 
ing me  as  a man  of  whom  her  daughter  had  spoken. 
When  we  came  back  from  vespers,  she  questioned 
me  about  my  family,  and  asked  me  whether  the 
Vandenesse  already  in  diplomacy  was  my  relation. 

“ He  is  my  brother,”  I said. 

Then  she  became  almost  affectionate.  She  in- 
formed me  that  my  great-aunt,  the  old  Marquise  de 
Listomere,  was  a Grandlieu.  Her  manner  was  as 
polite  as  had  been  that  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  the 
day  he  first  saw  me.  Her  glance  lost  that  haughtv 
expression  by  which  the  princes  of  the  earth  m ike 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


127 


you  appreciate  the  distance  between  themselves  and 
you.  1 knew  scarcely  anything  about  my  family. 
The  duchess  told  me  that  my  great-uncle,  anoldabbe 
whom  I did  not  even  know  by  name,  was  one  of  the 
privy  council  ; my  brother  had  been  promoted  ; 
finally,  by  some  article  in  the  charter  of  which  I was 
yet  ignorant,  my  father  again  became  the  Marquis 
de  Vandenesse. 

“ I am  only  one  thing,  the  slave  of  Clochegourde,” 
I said  in  a low  voice  to  the  countess. 

The  enchanter’s  wand  of  the  Restoration  was 
being  brought  in  play  with  a rapidity  that  stupefied 
children  reared  under  the  Imperial  government.  This 
revolution  was  nothing  to  me.  The  least  word,  the 
simplest  gesture  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf  were  the 
only  incidents  to  which  I attached  any  importance. 

I did  not  know  what  the  privy  council  was  ; I knew 
nothing  about  politics  or  public  affairs  ; I had  no 
other  ambition  than  to  love  Henriette  better  than 
Petrarch  loved  Laura.  This  indifference  caused  the 
duchess  to  take  me  for  a child.  A great  many  people 
came  to  Frapesle,  thirty  of  us  sat  down  to  dinner. 
What  intoxication  for  a young  man,  to  find  that  the 
woman  he  loves  is  the  most  beautiful  among  all 
others,  the  object  of  impassioned  looks,  and  to  know 
himself  to  be  the  only  one  to  receive  the  light  of  her 
modestly  guarded  eyes  ; to  be  sufficiently  familiar 
with  all  the  gradations  of  her  voice  to  detect  in  her 
speech,  apparently  light  or  mocking,  the  proofs  of  an 
unswerving  thought,  even  when  one’s  heart  is  full  of 
a devouring  jealousy  of  the  diversions  of  society.  The 


128 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


count,  delighted  at  the  attentions  of  which  he  found 
himself  the  centre,  became  almost  young  ; his  wife 
hoped  this  might  bring  some  change  of  mood  ; and  I, 
I laughed  with  Madeleine,  who,  like  those  children  in 
whom  the  body  perishes  beneath  the  pressure  of  the 
mind,  was  amusing  me  with  astonishing  remarks  full 
of  a spirit  of  harmless  mockery,  but  in  which  nobody 
was  spared.  It  was  a happy  day.  One  word,  a 
hope  born  that  morning  had  made  all  nature  lumin- 
ous ; and,  seeing  me  so  glad,  Henriette  was  glad. 

“ This  happiness  in  her  gray  and  clouded  life 
seemed  very  good  to  her,”  she  told  me  the  next 
day.  - 


The  following  day  I naturally  spent  at  Cloche- 
gourde  ; I had  been  banished  for  five  days,  I thirsted 
for  my  life.  The  count  had  been  gone  since  six  to  have 
his  deeds  of  purchase  drawn  up  at  Tours.  A grave 
subject  of  discord  had  arisen  between  the  mother 
and  the  daughter.  The  duchess  wished  the  countess 
to  follow  her  to  Paris,  when  she  would  secure  her  a 
position  at  Court,  where  the  count,  by  retracting  his 
refusal,  could  hold  high  offices.  Henriette,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  a happy  wife,  did  not  want  to  reveal 
her  terrible  sufferings  to  anybody,  not  even  to  a 
mother’s  heart,  nor  to  betray  her  husband’s  incom- 
petence. In  order  to  prevent  her  mother  from  dis- 
covering the  secret  of  her  home,  she  had  sent  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  to  Tours,  where  he  was  to 
struggle  with  the  notaries.  I alone,  as  she  had 
said,  knew  the  secrets  of  Clochegourde.  After 
having  tested  how  much  the  pure  air  and  the  blue 
sky  of  this  valley  soothed  mental  worries  or  the 
bitter  pangs  of  sickness,  and  what  an  influence  living 
at  Clochegourde  had  upon  the  health  of  her  children, 
she  pleaded  natural  objections  which  were  disputed 

by  the  duchess,  an  aggressive  woman,  who  felt  less 
9 (129) 


130  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

angered  than  humiliated  by  her  daughter’s  bad  mar- 
riage. Henriette  saw  that  her  mother  cared  little 
about  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  an  awful  discovery  ! 
Like  all  mothers  who  are  accustomed  to  continue  the 
same  despotism  over  the  married  woman  that  they 
exercised  over  the  girl,  the  duchess  proceeded  with 
considerations  that  admitted  of  no  reply ; she  as- 
sumed first  an  insidious  kindness  so  as  to  extort 
assent  to  her  views,  then  a bitter  coolness  so  as  to 
obtain  through  fear  what  she  could  not  secure  by 
gentleness ; then,  seeing  the  uselessness  of  her  at- 
tempts, she  exerted  the  same  spirit  of  irony  that  I 
had  observed  in  my  mother.  In  ten  days,  Henriette 
knew  all  the  pangs  that  young  wives  incur  in  the 
revolts  necessary  for  the  establishment  of  their  in- 
dependence. You  who,  happily,  have  the  best  of 
mothers,  could  not  understand  these  things.  In 
order  to  form  any  idea  of  this  struggle  between  a 
hard,  cold,  calculating,  ambitious  woman,  and  her 
daughter,  full  of  that  sweet,  moving  kindness  which 
is  inexhaustible,  you  must  picture  the  lily,  to  which 
my  mind  has  ever  compared  her,  ground  between 
the  wheels  of  a polished  steel  machine.  This 
mother  had  never  had  anything  in  common  with  her 
daughter  : she  could  not  guess  at  any  of  the  real 
difficulties  which  compelled  her  to  forego  the  advan- 
tages of  the  Restoration,  and  to  continue  her  solitary 
life.  She  thought  there  was  some  flirtation  between 
her  daughter  and  myself.  This  word,  which  she 
employed  in  expressing  her  suspicions,  opened  a 
gulf  between  the  two  women  which  nothing  could 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


131 

henceforth  fill.  Although  families  carefully  bury 
these  intolerable  differences,  do  you  penetrate  into 
them  ; in  almost  all  you  will  find  deep,  incurable 
wounds  which  diminish  the  natural  affections  ; or 
there  are  real,  pathetic  passions  rendered  eternal 
by  the  similarity  of  character  which  give  a mortal 
shock,  the  dark  bruises  of  which  are  indelible ; or 
latent  hatreds  which  slowly  freeze  the  heart  and  dry 
the  tears  on  the  day  of  eternal  farewell.  Tormented 
yesterday,  tormented  to-day,  wounded  by  all,  even 
by  her  two  suffering  darlings  who  were  party 
neither  to  the  ills  they  endured  nor  those  they 
caused,  how  much  would  not  this  poor  soul  have 
loved  him  who  did  not  wound  at  all  and  who  longed  to 
surround  her  with  a triple  hedge  of  thorns,  so  as  to 
defend  her  from  storms,  from  all  contact,  from  every 
hurt  ? If  I suffered  from  these  altercations,  I was 
sometimes  happy  at  feeling  that  she  was  throwing 
herself  back  into  my  heart,  for  Henriette  confided 
her  new  troubles  to  me.  I could  then  appreciate  her 
calmness  in  sorrow,  and  the  strong  patience  she  was 
able  to  show.  Each  day,  I better  understood  the 
meaning  of  these  words  : 44  Love  me  as  my  aunt 
loved  me.” 

4 4 Then  have  you  no  ambition  ? ” said  the  duchess 
to  me  severely,  during  dinner. 

44  Madame,”  I replied,  looking  at  her  gravely,  44 1 
feel  that  I have  strength  to  conquer  the  whole  world  ; 
but  I am  only  twenty-one,  and  I am  all  alone.” 

She  looked  at  her  daughter  in  surprise,  she  thought 
that,  in  order  to  keep  me  with  her,  her  daughter 


132 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


was  quenching  the  ambition  in  me.  The  visit  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt  at  Clochegourde  was  a time 
of  perpetual  restraint.  The  countess  recommended 
propriety,  and  was  frightened  at  a gently  spoken 
word  ; and,  in  order  to  please  her,  it  was  necessary 
to  don  the  armor  of  dissimulation.  The  great 
Thursday  came,  it  was  a day  of  tiresome  formality, 
one  of  those  days  abhorred  by  lovers  who  are  used 
to  the  cajoleries  of  the  daily  unconstraint,  accus- 
tomed to  see  their  chair  in  its  place  and  the  mistress 
of  the  house  wholly  their  own.  Love  dreads  all 
that  is  not  itself.  The  duchess  left  to  enjoy  the 
pomps  of  the  Court,  and  all  was  quiet  again  at 
Clochegourde. 

My  little  disagreement  with  the  count  had  had  the 
result  of  implanting  me  there  even  more  surely  than 
in  the  past ; I could  go  there  at  any  moment  without 
arousing  the  least  suspicion,  my  past  life  inclined 
me  to  expand  like  a creeping  plant  in  that  noble 
mind  where  for  me  the  magic  world  of  requited 
feelings  was  unfolding.  Every  hour,  from  moment 
to  moment,  our  fraternal  marriage,  founded  upon 
confidence,  became  more  coherent ; we  were  both 
settling  down  into  our  positions  ; the  countess  en- 
folded me  in  fostering  care,  in  the  white  draperies  of 
a wholly  maternal  love ; whilst  my  love,  seraphic 
in  her  presence,  became,  when  away  from  her  as  keen 
and  scorching  as  a red-hot  iron;  I loved  her  with  a 
double  love  which  alternately  darted  the  thousand 
arrows  of  desire  and  lost  them  in  the  sky  where 
they  died  away  in  impenetrable  ether.  If  you  ask 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


133 


me  why  I,  young  and  full  of  ardent  longings,  con- 
tinued in  the  delusive  expectations  of  platonic  affec- 
tion, I will  confess  to  you  that  I was  not  yet  man 
enough  to  molest  this  woman,  always  in  dread  of 
some  calamity  with  her  children  ; always  expecting 
an  outburst,  or  stormy  variation  of  mood  from  her 
husband  ; wounded  by  him,  when  she  was  not  being 
worried  by  the  illness  of  Jacques  or  Madeleine  ; 
seated  at  the  bedside  of  one  of  them  when  her 
husband,  being  pacified,  allowed  her  to  take  a little 
rest.  The  sound  of  too  intense  a word  agitated  her 
very  being,  a desire  shocked  her ; for  her,  it  had  to 
be  veiled  love,  strength  mingled  with  tenderness,  in 
fact  all  that  she  herself  was  to  others. 

Then,  I will  tell  this  to  you  who  are  so  thoroughly 
womanly,  this  situation  allowed  of  the  delightful, 
languors,  the  moments  of  heavenly  sweetness  and 
the  content  that  follow  tacit  sacrifices.  Her  con- 
scientiousness was  contagious,  the  persistence  of  her 
devotion  without  earthly  reward  was  imposing;  this 
deep,  secret  piety,  which  served  as  a link  to  her 
other  virtues,  acted  all  around  like  some  spiritual 
incense.  Then  I was  young ! young  enough  to 
repress  my  nature  in  the  kiss  which  she  so  rarely 
allowed  me  to  imprint  upon  her  hand,  the  back  only 
of  which  she  ever  gave  me  and  never  the  palm,  the 
boundary  perhaps  where  for  her  began  sensual 
voluptuousness.  If  ever  two  souls  were  more  in- 
tensely bound  up  together,  never  was  the  body  more 
fearlessly  or  victoriously  subdued.  At  length,  later 
on,  I found  out  the  cause  of  this  complete  happiness. 


134 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


At  my  age,  no  selfishness  diverted  my  affection,  no 
ambition  thwarted  the  course  of  this  feeling  which, 
unchained  like  a torrent,  made  a deluge  of  all  that  it 
swept  along.  Yes,  later  on,  we  love  the  sex  in  a 
woman  ; whilst  in  the  first  woman  loved,  we  love 
everything ; her  children  are  ours,  her  house  is 
ours,  her  interests  are  our  interests,  her  misery  is 
our  own  much  greater  misery  ; we  love  her  dress 
and  her  furniture  ; we  are  more  vexed  upon  seeing 
her  wheat  laid  than  upon  knowing  we  have  lost  our 
money  ; we  are  disposed  to  grumble  at  the  visitor 
who  disturbs  our  curiosities  on  the  mantelpiece. 
This  saintly  love  causes  us  to  live  in  another, 
while  later  on,  alas ! we  draw  another  life  into 
ourselves,  by  requiring  of  the  woman  that  she  should 
enrich  our  impoverished  faculties  with  her  youthful 
feelings. 

I was  soon  one  of  the  family,  and  for  the  first 
time  I met  with  that  infinite  indulgence  which, 
to  a harassed  mind,  is  what  a bath  is  to  a tired  body  ; 
the  whole  surface  of  the  mind  is  then  refreshed,  the 
deepest*  furrows  smoothed  away.  You  could  not 
understand  this,  you  are  a woman,  and  the  question 
here  is  of  a happiness  that  you  bestow,  without  ever 
receiving  the  like.  Only  a man  knows  the  keen 
gratification  of  being — in  the  midst  of  a strange 
family — the  mistress’s  favorite,  the  secret  centre  of 
her  affection  ; the  dogs  no  longer  bark  at  you  ; the 
servants  recognize,  as  well  as  do  the  dogs,  the 
hidden  insignia  that  you  bear ; the  children,  with 
whom  nothing  is  disguised,  who  know  that  their 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


135 


participation  will  never  be  diminished,  and  that 
you  are  good  to  the  light  of  their  life,  these 
children  possess  a spirit  of  divination  ; they  are 
playful  with  you,  they  exercise  those  kindly  tyran- 
nies which  they  reserve  for  adored  and  adoring 
beings  ; they  show  sensible  discretion,  and  are  inno- 
cent accomplices;  they  approach  you  on  tiptoe, 
smile  at  you  and  go  away  noiselessly.  For  you,  all 
are  attentive,  gentle  and  smiling.  True  passions 
seem  like  beautiful  flowers  which  are  all  the  more 
pleasing  to  look  upon  in  proportion  as  the  soil  where- 
in they  grow  is  more  unfavorable.  But,  if  I enjoyed 
the  delicious  benefits  of  this  naturalization  in  a family 
in  which  I found  relations  after  my  own  heart,  I also 
felt  its  drawbacks.  Until  then,  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  had  restrained  himself  on  my  account ; I had 
only  seen  his  failings  as  a whole,  I soon  felt  their 
application  to  their  full  extent,  and  saw  how  nobly 
charitable  the  countess  had  been  in  describing  her 
daily  struggles.  I then  became  acquainted  with  all 
the  angles  of  this  intolerable  character ; I heard  those 
continual  outcries  for  nothing  at  all,  those  lamenta- 
tions over  evils  that  had  no  visible  existence,  that 
innate  discontent  which  was  robbing  life  of  its  bloom, 
and  that  incessant  anxiety  to  tyrannize  which  would 
have  led  him  to  devour  fresh  victims  every  year. 
When  we  went  out  in  the  evening,  he  himself  directed 
the  walk but,  no  matter  where  it  was,  he  was  al- 
ways bored  by  it ; upon  his  return  home,  he  would 
lay  the  burden  of  his  lassitude  upon  others  ; it  was 
his  wife’s  fault  for  taking  him  where  she  wanted  to 


136 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


go  against  his  will ; no  longer  remembering  that  he 
himself  had  led  the  way,  he  would  complain  at  being 
governed  by  her  in  the  slightest  details  of  life,  at 
not  being  able  to  keep  a wish  or  a thought  to  him- 
self, at  being  a nobody  in  his  own  house.  If  his 
harsh  words  were  met  with  silent  patience,  he  would 
be  annoyed  at  feeling  there  was  a limit  to  his  power  ; 
he  demanded  sharply  whether  religion  did  not  com- 
mand wives  to  please  their  husbands,  whether  it 
was  decent  to  slight  the  father  of  her  children.  He 
always  ended  by  attacking  some  sensitive  chord  in 
his  wife ; and,  when  he  had  made  it  ring  again,  he 
seemed  to  taste  a pleasure  peculiar  to  these  domi- 
neering ciphers.  Sometimes  he  would  affect  a 
gloomy  silence,  a morbid  depression,  which  would 
suddenly  frighten  his  wife,  who  would  then  show 
him  touching  attention.  Like  those  spoiled  children 
who  exercise  their  power  heedless  of  maternal 
alarm,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  petted  like  Jacques 
and  Madeleine,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  In  short, 
in  the  long  run  I discovered  that,  upon  the  smallest 
as  upon  the  greatest  occasions,  the  count  treated  his 
servants,  his  children  and  his  wife,  as  he  treated 
me  at  backgammon.  The  day  upon  which,  in  all 
their  roots  and  branches,  I comprehended  these  diffi- 
culties which,  like  creepers,  stifled  and  repressed  the 
movements  and  respiration  of  this  family,  swathing 
with  light  but  manifold  threads  the  progress  of  the 
household,  and  hindering  the  increase  of  prosperity 
by  complicating  the  most  indispensable  actions,  I felt 
a wondering  horror  which  rose  above  my  love,  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


137 


drove  it  back  into  my  heart.  What  was  I,  my  God  ? 
The  tears  that  I had  drunk  produced,  as  it  were,  a 
sublime  intoxication  within  me,  and  I counted  it  joy 
to  espouse  this  woman’s  sufferings.  Time  was 
when  I had  submitted  to  the  count’s  tyranny  in  the 
same  way  as  a smuggler  pays  his  fines  ; hence- 
forward, I offered  myself  voluntarily  to  the  despot’s 
blows,  so  as  to  be  as  close  as  possible  to  Henriette. 
The  countess  understood  me,  allowed  me  to  take  my 
place  beside  her,  and  rewarded  me  by  giving  me 
permission  to  share  her  sorrows,  just  as  once  the 
repentant  apostle,  anxious  to  fly  to  Heaven  in  com- 
pany with  his  brethren,  obtained  the  favor  of  dying 
in  the  Circus. 

“But  for  you,  I should  have  sunk  under  this 
existence,”  said  Henriette  one  evening  when  the 
count,  like  flies  on  a very  hot  day,  had  been  more 
stinging,  more  sour,  more  variable  than  usual. 

The  count  had  gone  to  bed.  We  remained,  Hen- 
riette and  I,  part  of  the  evening  under  our  acacias ; 
the  children  played  around  us,  bathed  in  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  Our  words,  few  and  exclamatory 
only,  revealed  to  us  the  mutuality  of  the  thoughts  in 
which  we  rested  from  our  joint  sufferings.  When 
words  failed,  the  silence  faithfully  ministered  to  our 
minds,  which,  so  to  speak,  entered  into  one  another 
unhindered,  but  unbidden  by  a kiss  ; both  enjoying 
the  delights  of  a pensive  torpor,  they  entered  into 
the  undulations  of  the  same  reverie,  plunged  to- 
gether into  the  river,  emerging  refreshed  like  two 
nymphs  as  completely  one  as  jealousy  could  desire, 


1 38 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


but  without  any  earthly  bond.  We  went  into  a 
bottomless  gulf,  we  returned  to  the  surface,  empty- 
handed,  asking  each  other  with  a look  : “ Shall  we 
ever  have  one  day  to  ourselves  amidst  so  many 
days  ? ” When  voluptuousness  plucks  us  these 
flowers  which  are  born  without  beginning,  why  does 
the  flesh  murmur  ? In  spite  of  the  enervating  poetry 
of  the  evening  which  tinted  the  bricks  of  the  balus- 
trade an  orange  color,  so  soothing  and  so  pure ; in 
spite  of  this  religious  atmosphere  which  conveyed  to 
us  in  softened  strains  the  cries  of  the  two  children 
and  left  us  quiet,  desire  wound  through  my  veins 
like  the  signal  for  a bonfire.  After  three  months  I 
was  beginning  to  rebel  against  the  part  that  had  been 
assigned  to  me,  and  I gently  stroked  Henriette’s 
hand,  endeavoring  thus  to  transmit  the  wealth  of 
voluptuousness  which  was  consuming  me.  Hen- 
riette  turned  into  Madame  de  Mortsauf  again,  and 
withdrew  her  hand  ; tears  swam  in  my  eyes,  she  saw 
them  and  gave  me  a cool  glance  while  carrying  her 
hand  to  my  lips. 

‘‘You  must  understand  then/’  she  said,  “that 
this  costs  me  tears  ! It  is  a dangerous  friendship  that 
demands  so  great  a favor.” 

I burst  out,  I launched  forth  into  reproaches,  I spoke 
of  my  sufferings  and  the  little  alleviation  that  I asked 
in  order  to  endure  them . I ventured  to  tell  her  that  at 
my  age,  even  if  the  senses  were  all  soul,  the  soul 
too  had  a sex  ,*  that  I could  die,  but  not  die  with 
sealed  lips.  She  imposed  silence  upon  me  by  cast- 
ing me  one  of  her  proud  looks,  in  which  I seemed  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


139 


read  the  “And  I,  am  / upon  roses  ? ” of  the  Cacique. 
Perhaps  indeed  I was  mistaken.  Ever  since  the 
day  when,  before  the  gate  of  Frapesle,  I had  wrong- 
fully ascribed  to  her  that  thought  wherein  our  happi- 
ness was  to  spring  from  a tomb,  I had  been  ashamed 
of  staining  her  soul  by  desires  stamped  with  brutal 
passion.  She  began  to  speak,  and  with  honeyed 
lips,  told  me  that  she  could  not  be  everything  to  me, 
that  I ought  to  know  it.  I understood,  the  moment 
she  said  these  words,  that,  did  1 not  obey  her,  I 
should  hollow  gulfs  between  us  both.  I bowed  my 
head.  She  continued,  saying  that  she  had  religious 
assurance  of  being  allowed  to  love  a brother  without 
offense  to  God  or  man  ; that  there  was  a certain 
comfort  in  creating  out  of  this  worship  an  actual 
image  of  the  divine  love  which,  according  to  her 
good  Saint-Martin,  is  the  life  of  the  world.  If  I 
could  not  be  to  her  something  like  her  old  confessor, 
less  than  a lover  but  more  than  a brother,  we  must 
not  see  each  other  any  more.  She  could  die  bear- 
ing to  God  this  overload  of  intense  suffering,  endured 
not  without  tears  or  pangs. 

“\  have  given,”  she  said  in  conclusion,  “ more 
than  I ought,  so  as  to  have  nothing  left  that  could  be 
taken,  and  I am  punished  for  it.” 

I had  to  calm  her,  promise  her  never  to  cause  her 
any  uneasiness,  and  to  love  her  at  twenty  as  old 
men  love  their  youngest  child. 


The  next  day  I came  early.  She  had  no  more 
flowers  for  the  vases  in  her  gray  salon.  I rushed 
out  into  the  fields  and  vineyards,  and  looked  for 
flowers  to  make  up  two  bouquets  ; but,  while  pick- 
ing them  one  by  one,  trimming  their  stalks,  and 
admiring  them,  I thought  that  the  colors  and  leaves 
had  a harmony,  a poetry  which  forced  itself  upon 
the  understanding  while  charming  the  eye,  just  as 
musical  phrases  waken  a thousand  memories  in  the 
depth  of  loving  and  beloved  hearts.  If  color  is 
organized  light,  should  it  not  have  a meaning  just  as 
combinations  of  air  have  theirs  ? Helped  by  Jacques 
and  Madeleine,  all  three  delighted  at  conspiring  to 
surprise  our  darling,  I undertook,  upon  the  lower 
stairs  of  the  steps  where  we  established  the  head- 
quarters for  our  flowers,  to  arrange  two  bouquets 
by  means  of  which  I tried  to  depict  a sentiment. 
Imagine  a stream  of  flowers  gushing  out  of  two 
vases,  falling  down  in  fringed  billows,  and  from  the 
heart  of  which  leaped  my  vows  in  white  roses  and 
silver-cupped  lilies.  Upon  this  cool  surface  gleamed 
the  cornflowers,  forget-me-nots,  adder-wort,  all  the 
blue  flowers  the  shades  of  which,  borrowed  from  the 
(141) 


142 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


sky,  so  well  match  the  white ; is  it  not  a twofold 
innocence,  that  which  knows  nothing  and  that  which 
knows  all,  the  child’s  thought  and  the  martyr’s 
thought  ? Love  has  its  heraldry,  and  the  countess 
secretly  deciphered  it.  She  gave  me  one  of  those 
incisive  looks  which  resemble  the  cry  of  a sick  per- 
son touched  upon  a sore  : she  was  both  confused 
and  delighted.  What  a reward  in  that  look ! To 
make  her  happy,  to  refresh  her  heart,  what  encour- 
agement ! So  1 invented  the  theory  of  Father 
Castel  on  behalf  of  love,  and  for  her  rediscovered  a 
science  which  was  lost  in  Europe  where  the  blossoms 
of  the  inkstand  take  the  place  of  the  pages  written 
in  the  East  in  perfumed  colors.  How  fascinating  to 
express  one's  feelings  through  these  daughters  of 
the  Sun,  sisters  of  the  flowers  blown  beneath  the 
rays  of  love  ! I very  soon  understood  the  produc- 
tions of  the  field  flora,  just  as  a man  whom  I met 
later  at  Grandlieu  used  to  understand  bees. 

Twice  a week,  during  the  remainder  of  my  stay 
at  Frapesle,  1 repeated  the  lengthy  process  of  this 
poetic  work,  the  completion  of  which  required  all 
varieties  of  grasses,  of  which  I made  a thorough 
study,  not  so  much  as  a botanist  as  a poet,  studying 
their  spirit  rather  than  their  form.  In  order  to  find 
a flower  just  where  it  grew,  I would  often  go 
enormous  distances,  to  the  banks  of  rivers,  in  the 
valleys,  to  the  top  of  rocks,  on  to  open  plains, 
collecting  thoughts  in  the  depth  of  the  woods  and 
heaths.  On  these  rambles,  I initiated  myself  into 
pleasures  that  are  unknown  to  the  scholar  who  lives 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


143 


in  meditation,  to  the  agriculturist  absorbed  in  special- 
ties, to  the  mechanic  riveted  to  the  towns,  to  the 
tradesman  fastened  to  his  counter,  but  known  by 
some  foresters,  some  woodcutters,  some  dreamers. 
There  are  effects  in  nature,  the  significances  of 
which  are  unlimited,  and  which  rise  to  the  level  of 
the  greatest  moral  conceptions.  Whether  it  be  a 
flowery  heath,  covered  with  the  diamonds  of  the  dew 
which  moistens  it,  and  in  which  the  sun  is  sporting, 
an  immensity  decked  out  for  a single  timely  glance  ; 
or  a forest  nook  encircled  with  ruined  rocks, 
intersected  with  gravel,  clothed  in  moss,  adorned 
with  junipers,  which  strikes  you  by  its  indescribable 
wildness,  harshness,  and  awfulness,  whence  comes 
the  cry  of  the  osprey ; or  a burning  plain,  with- 
out vegetation,  stony,  with  steep  sides,  the  horizons 
of  which  resemble  those  of  the  desert,  and  where  I 
used  to  find  a sublime  and  solitary  flower,  a pasque- 
flower with  a violet  silk  flag  displayed  for  its  golden 
stamens ; touching  image  of  my  fair  idol,  alone  in 
her  valley  ! or  great  pools  of  water  upon  which 
nature  immediately  spreads  green  spots,  a species  of 
transition  between  plant  and  animal,  where  in  a few 
days  life  appears,  with  plants  and  insects  floating 
there,  like  a world  in  the  ether ! Or,  again  a cot- 
tage with  its  garden  full  of  cabbages,  its  vine,  its 
palings,  overhanging  a bog,  begirt  by  a few  meagre 
fields  of  rye,  symbol  of  so  many  humble  lives  ! Or, 
finally,  a long  forest  path  like  some  cathedral  nave, 
where  the  trees  are  the  columns,  and  the  branches 
form  the  arches  of  the  roof,  at  the  end  of  which 


144 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


a distant  glade  with  touches  of  light  mingled  with 
shadows  or  varied  by  the  red  tints  of  the  setting 
sun,  peeps  through  the  leaves  and  looks  like  the 
colored  windows  of  a choir  full  of  singing  birds  : 
then,  at  the  exit  of  these  cool  and  leafy  woods,  a 
chalky  land  where,  upon  glowing,  sonorous  mosses, 
satiated  adders  retire  into  their  holes  raising  their 
elegant,  slender  heads.  Cast  upon  these  scenes 
sometimes  floods  of  sunshine  streaming  down  like 
nutritive  waves,  sometimes  masses  of  gray  clouds 
ranged  like  the  line  in  an  old  man's  forehead,  some- 
times the  cold  tones  of  a slightly  orange  sky,  streaked 
with  bands  of  a pale  blue  ; then  listen  : you  will 
hear  indefinable  harmonies  in  the  midst  of  a silence 
that  bewilders. 

During  the  months  of  September  and  October,  I 
never  constructed  a single  bouquet  which  cost  me 
less  than  three  hours'  research,  so  much  was  I won- 
dering, with  the  sweet  forgetfulness  of  the  poets,  at 
these  fleeting  allegories  where  for  me  were  repre- 
sented the  most  contrasting  phases  of  human  life, 
stately  pageants  into  which  my  memory  now  goes 
searching.  Often,  now-a-days,  I join  to  these  grand 
scenes  the  recollection  of  the  feeling  at  that  time 
lavished  upon  nature.  There  I once  more  lead  the 
sovereign  whose  white  dress  undulated  through  the 
copses,  floated  over  the  sward,  the  thought  of  whom, 
like  a promised  fruit,  arose  from  each  calyx  full  of 
amorous  stamens. 

No  declaration,  no  proof  of  mad  passion  could  have 
had  stronger  contagion  than  these  flower  symphonies. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


145 


in  which  my  deluded  desire  led  me  to  exert  the  ef- 
forts that  Beethoven  conveyed  in  his  notes  ; profound 
inward  searchings,  tremendous  soarings  towards  the 
sky.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  no  one  but  Henriette 
at  sight  of  them.  She  would  ever  return  to  them, 
and  feast  upon  them,  she  would  answer  all  the 
thoughts  I had  placed  in  them  when,  in  order  to  ac- 
cept them  she  raised  her  head  from  her  tapestry 
frame,  with : “ Good  Heavens,  how  beautiful 

that  is  ! ” You  will  understand  this  delicious  corre- 
spondence from  a detailed  account  of  a bouquet,  as 
after  a fragment  of  poetry  you  would  understand 
Saadi.  Have  you  ever  smelled  in  the  fields,  in  the 
month  of  May,  that  perfume  which  infects  all  beings 
with  the  rapture  of  impregnation,  so  that  in  a boat 
you  dip  your  hands  in  the  water,  you  bare  your 
head  to  the  wind,  and  your  thoughts  bloom  again 
like  the  forest  tufts  ? A little  herb,  the  sweet-scent- 
ed vernal  grass,  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  agents 
in  this  hidden  harmony.  Indeed  no  one  can  keep  it 
near  with  impunity.  Into  a bouquet  put  its  leaves, 
glossy  and  striped  like  a dress  with  white  and  green 
threads,  and  in  the  depths  of  your  heart  inexhaust- 
ible exhalations  will  stir  the  budding  roses  which 
there  lie  crushed  by  modesty.  Around  the  bell- 
shaped neck  of  the  china  vase,  imagine  a large 
margin  entirely  composed  of  the  white  clusters  pe- 
culiar to  the  sedum  of  the  vines  in  Touraine  ; vague 
image  of  the  desired  attitude,  compliant  as  that  of  the 
submissive  slave.  From  this  layer  rise  the  spirals 
of  the  white-belled  bindweed,  the  sprays  of  the  pink 
10 


146 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


rest-harrow,  interspersed  with  a few  ferns,  and  a 
few  young  shoots  of  the  oak  with  magnificently 
colored,  glossy  leaves  ; all  advance  prostrated 
humbly  like  weeping-willows,  timid  and  suppliant 
like  prayers.  Above,  see  the  slender,  flowering, 
ever  fluttering  fibrils  of  the  purple  meadow  sweet 
shedding  its  almost  yellow  tips  in  floods  ; the  snowy 
pyramids  of  the  meadow-grass  from  the  fields  and 
streams,  the  green  foliage  of  the  barren  brome-grass, 
the  tapering  plumes  of  those  bent-grasses  called  the 
wind’s-eye ; purplish  hopes  with  which  the  first 
dreams  are  crowned  and  which  stand  out  against  the 
gridelim  background  where  the  light  beams  around 
its  flowering  grasses.  But  higher  up  still,  a few 
monthly  roses  here  and  there  amid  the  light  lace- 
work  of  the  bird’s-nest,  the  feathers  of  the  cotton- 
grass,  the  marabout  of  the  meadow-sweet,  the  um- 
bellule  of  the  wild  chervil,  the  fair  hairs  of  the  clematis 
in  fruit,  the  tiny  saltires  of  the  milk-white  crosswort, 
the  corymb  of  the  milfoil,  the  diffuse  stems  of  the 
fumitory  with  pink  and  black  flowers,  the  tendrils  of 
the  vine,  the  winding  shoots  of  the  honeysuckle  ; in 
short,  all  that  is  most  disordered,  and  most  heart- 
rending in  these  simple  creatures,  spearworts  and 
triple  pistils,  lance-shaped,  jagged  leaves,  stems 
twisted  like  the  desires  entangled  in  the  depths  of 
the  soul.  From  the  bosom  of  this  prolix  torrent  of 
overflowing  love,  leaps  a magnificent  red  double 
poppy  accompanied  by  its  bursting  acorus,  flying  the 
sparks  of  its  conflagration  above  the  starry  jasmines 
and  overhanging  the  incessant  shower  of  the  pollen. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


147 


a beautiful  cloud  that  glitters  in  the  air  while  reflect- 
ing the  light  in  its  thousand  shining  particles ! 
What  woman,  intoxicated  by  the  fragrance  of  Aphro- 
dite hidden  in  the  vernal  grass,  would  not  under- 
stand this  wealth  of  submissive  ideas,  this  fair  tender- 
ness stirred  by  uncontrolled  impulses,  and  this  flam- 
ing desire  of  love  which  seeks  a happiness  denied  in 
the  struggles  so  oft  renewed  with  the  repressed, 
indefatigable,  eternal  passion  ? 

Place  this  discourse  in  the  light  of  a window,  so 
as  to  show  the  fresh  details,  the  delicate  contrasts, 
the  traceries,  so  that  the  softened  sovereign  may 
see  the  more  full  blown  flower  whence  drops  a tear  ; 
she  will  be  quite  ready  to  surrender,  it  would  need 
an  angel  or  the  voice  of  her  child  to  keep  her  back 
on  the  brink  of  the  abyss.  What  does  one  give  to 
God?  perfumes,  light  and  songs,  the  most  purified 
expressions  of  our  nature.  Well  then,  was  not  all 
that  is  offered  to  God  offered  to  love  in  this  poem  of 
luminous  flowers,  ceaselessly  singing  its  melodies  in 
the  heart,  while  fostering  the  hidden  voluptuous- 
ness, the  unavowed  hopes,  the  fancies  that  are 
kindled  and  extinguished  like  gossamer  on  a warm 
night. 

These  neutral  pleasures  were  of  great  assistance 
to  us  in  cheating  nature  that  was  chafing  at  the  pro- 
longed contemplation  of  the  beloved,  at  that  gaze 
which  delights  in  shining  into  the  very  depth  of  the 
forms  penetrated.  To  me,  I dare  not  say  to  her,  it 
was  like  those  fissures  through  which  gushes  the 
water  confined  in  an  invincible  dam,  and  which  often 


148 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


prevents  a disaster  by  sharing  the  necessity.  Ab- 
stinence entails  deadly  exhaustion  which  is  staved 
off  by  a few  crumbs  falling  one  by  one  from  that 
sky  which,  from  Dan  to  Sahara,  supplies  the  trav- 
eller with  manna.  And  yet,  at  sight  of  these  bou- 
quets, I have  often  detected  Henriette  with  drooping 
arms,  lost  in  those  stormy  reveries  during  which 
the  thoughts  swell  the  breast,  inflame  the  brow, 
come  in  waves,  spout  out  foam,  threaten  and  leave 
behind  an  enervating  weariness.  Never  since  have 
I made  up  a bouquet  for  anybody.  When  we  had 
invented  this  language  for  our  own  use,  we  felt  the 
same  satisfaction  as  that  of  the  slave  who  deludes 
his  master. 

During  the  rest  of  this  month,  when  I hurried  up 
through  the  gardens,  I would  sometimes  see  her 
face  pressed  against  the  window ; and,  when  I 
came  into  the  salon  I would  find  her  at  her  frame. 
If  I did  not  arrive  at  the  time  agreed  upon  without 
our  ever  having  appointed  it,  her  white  form  would 
sometimes  stroll  up  and  down  the  terrace ; and, 
when  I surprised  her  there,  she  would  say : “ 1 
came  to  meet  you.  Must  one  not  be  a little  coquet- 
tish with  the  youngest  child  ? ” 

The  tiresome  games  of  backgammon  between  the 
count  and  myself  had  been  suspended.  His  latest 
purchases  necessitated  a great  many  expeditions, 
examinations,  verifications,  boundary  limitations  and 
surveyings  ; he  was  taken  up  with  orders  that  had 
to  be  given,  with  field  labors  that  required  the 
master's  eye  and  that  were  settled  between  his  wife 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


149 


and  himself.  We  often  went,  the  countess  and  I, 
to  meet  him  in  his  new  domains  with  his  two  chil- 
dren, who,  during  the  walk  would  run  after  insects, 
stag-beetles,  mole-crickets,  and  also  make  their 
bouquets,  or  to  be  exact,  their  bundles  of  flowers. 
To  walk  with  the  woman  one  loves,  to  give  her 
one’s  arm,  to  pick  out  the  way  for  her ! these  un- 
limited joys  suffice  for  a lifetime.  Conversation  is 
then  so  confidential  ! We  went  alone,  and  returned 
with  the  general,  a nickname  of  gentle  raillery 
which  we  gave  the  count  when  he  was  in  a good 
temper.  These  two  ways  of  going  varied  our 
pleasure  by  the  contrasts,  the  secret  of  which  is 
known  only  by  hearts  that  are  obstructed  in  their 
union.  On  the  return  journey,  the  same  joys,  a 
glance,  a clasp  of  the  hand,  were  intermingled  with 
anxieties. 

The  conversation,  so  free  during  the  going,  on 
the  return  was  full  of  mysterious  significations, 
when  one  of  us,  after  a short  interval,  would  find  an 
answer  to  insidious  questions,  or  a discussion  begun 
would  be  continued  under  that  enigmatical  guise  to 
which  our  language  lends  itself  so  well  and  which 
women  are  so  ingenious  at  inventing.  Who  has  not 
tasted  the  delight  of  understanding  each  other  as  if 
in  an  unknown  sphere  where  spirits  separate 
themselves  from  the  throng  and  unite  together  in 
eluding  the  common  laws  ? 

One  day,  a wild  hope  of  mine  was  dissipated, 
when,  to  an  inquiry  on  the  part  of  the  count  who 
wanted  to  know  what  we  were  talking  about,  Hen- 


150 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


riette  replied  by  a sentence  with  a double  meaning 
with  which  he  was  satisfied.  This  innocent  sally 
amused  Madeleine  and  afterward  made  her  mother 
blush,  and  she  apprised  me  by  a stern  look  that  she 
might  withdraw  her  soul  from  me  as  she  had  once 
withdrawn  her  hand,  as  she  wished  to  remain  an  ir- 
reproachable wife.  But  this  purely  spiritual  union 
has  so  many  attractions,  that  the  next  day  we  began 
again. 


So  flew  the  hours,  days  and  weeks,  full  of  recur- 
ring happiness.  Then  came  the  time  of  the  vintage, 
which  in  Touraine  is  a real  holiday.  Toward  the 
end  of  September,  the  sun,  less  hot  than  during 
harvest-time,  permits  of  remaining  in  the  fields  with- 
out fear  of  sunburn  or  fatigue.  It  is  easier  to  gather 
grapes  than  to  reap  the  grain.  The  fruit  is  all  ripe. 
The  harvest  is  over,  bread  is  cheaper,  and  this 
abundance  makes  life  glad.  At  last  the  apprehen- 
sions inspired  by  the  result  of  the  field  labors,  where 
as  much  money  as  toil  disappears,  fade  before  the 
replenished  barn  and  the  cellars  which  are  waiting 
to  be  filled.  The  vintage  is  then  like  the  joyous 
dessert  of  a gathered-in  feast,  the  sky  always 
smiles  upon  it  in  Touraine,  where  the  autumns  are 
magnificent.  In  this  hospitable  country,  the  vin- 
tagers are  fed  in  the  house.  These  being  the  only 
meals  where  these  poor  people,  every  year,  get  sub- 
stantial and  well  cooked  food,  they  think  as  much  of 
it  as  the  children  in  patriarchal  households  think  of 
birthday  festivities.  And  so  they  come  in  crowds  to 
those  houses  where  the  masters  treat  them  liberally. 
The  house  is  then  full  of  people  and  provisions.  The 
(151) 


152  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

presses  are  always  open.  All  seems  to  be  alive 
with  this  bustle  of  coopers,  of  trucks  filled  with 
laughing  girls,  of  people  who,  earning  better  wages 
than  during  the  rest  of  the  year,  sing  at  every  turn. 
Then,  another  cause  for  pleasure,  all  ranks  are 
mingled  ; women,  children,  masters  and  servants,  all 
join  in  the  divine  harvesting.  These  various  circum- 
stances may  account  for  the  hilarity  transmitted 
from  age  to  age,  which  is  developed  in  these  last  fine 
days  of  the  year,  and  the  recollection  of  which  in- 
spired Rabelais  of  old  with  the  bacchic  form  of  his 
great  work.  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  always  ill,  had 
never  been  at  a vintage  ; I was  like  them,  and  they 
felt  I know  not  what  childish  delight  at  seeing  their 
excitement  shared  ; their  mother  had  promised  to 
go  with  us.  We  had  gone  to  Villaines,  where  the 
baskets  of  the  country  are  made,  to  order  some  very 
nice  ones  for  ourselves  ; it  then  remained  for  us  four 
to  gather  several  measures  which  had  been  reserved 
for  our  scissors ; but  it  was  agreed  that  we  should 
not  eat  too  many  grapes.  To  eat  the  rich  co  of 
Touraine  in  the  vineyards  seemed  so  delightful  a 
thing,  that  the  finest  grapes  on  the  table  were  dis- 
dained. Jacques  made  me  promise  to  go  nowhere 
else  to  see  the  grape  gathering  and  to  reserve  myself 
for  the  enclosure  at  Clochegourde.  Never  had  these 
two  little  creatures,  usually  ailing  and  pale,  been  so 
fresh  and  rosy,  so  active  and  busy  as  on  this  morn- 
ing. They  chattered  for  the  sake  of  chattering, 
went  to  and  fro,  ran  about,  and  returned  without 
any  apparent  reason  ; but,  like  other  children,  they 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


153 


seemed  to  have  too  much  life  to  shake  off ; Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  never  seen  them  like 
this.  I became  a child  again  with  them,  more 
childish  may  be  than  they,  for  I too  was  hoping  for 
my  harvest.  We  went  in  the  loveliest  weather  to 
the  vineyard,  and  there  we  stayed  half  the  day. 
How  we  contended  as  to  who  should  find  the  finest 
grapes,  and  who  should  fill  his  basket  the  quickest ! 
There  were  goings  and  comings  from  the  vine-plants 
to  the  mother,  not  a grape  was  gathered  that  was 
not  shown  to  her : she  laughed  the  hearty  laugh 
fraught  with  her  youth,  when,  arriving  after  her 
little  girl  with  my  basket,  I said  to  her  like  Made- 
leine : 

“ And  mine,  mother  ? ” 

She  replied  : 

“ Dear  child,  do  not  overheat  yourself  ! ” 

Then,  passing  her  hand  in  turn  over  my  neck  and 
hair,  she  gave  me  a little  tap  on  the  cheek,  adding  : 
“ You  are  in  a perspiration  ! ” 

It  was  the  only  time  that  I heard  this  caress  of  the 
voice,  the  familiar  tu  of  lovers.  I looked  at  the  beau- 
tiful hedgerows  covered  with  red  fruits,  wild  plums 
and  blackberries  ; I listened  to  the  cries  of  the  chil- 
dren, I looked  at  the  troop  of  vintagers,  the  cart  full 
of  casks,  and  the  men  laden  with  baskets  ! — Ah  ! 
I engraved  it  all  upon  my  memory,  even  down  to 
the  young  almond-tree  beneath  which  she  was  sit- 
ting, fresh,  glowing  and  smiling  under  her  opened 
umbrella.  Then  I set  to  work  to  pick  the  grapes,  to 
fill  my  basket,  to  go  and  empty  it  in  the  vintage 


154 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


cask  with  a laborious  application,  silent  and  un- 
flagging, and  a slow  and  measured  progress  that 
left  my  mind  free.  I tasted  the  unspeakable  pleasure 
of  an  outward  toil  which  maintains  life  by  regulat- 
ing the  course  of  passion,  quite  ready,  but  for  this 
mechanical  movement,  to  ignite  everything.  I knew 
how  much  wisdom  is  contained  in  uniform  labor  and 
I understood  the  monastic  rules. 

For  the  first  time  in  a long  while,  the  count  was 
neither  disagreeable  nor  unkind.  To  see  his  son, 
the  future  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Mortsauf,  so  healthy, 
pink  and  white  and  smeared  with  grapes,  gladdened 
his  heart.  This  being  the  last  day  of  the  grape- 
gathering, the  general  promised  that  there  should  be 
dancing  in  the  evening  in  front  of  Clochegourde  in 
honor  of  the  restored  Bourbons ; in  this  way  the 
fete  was  complete  for  everybody.  Going  home,  the 
countess  took  my  arm  ; she  leaned  upon  me  in  such 
a way  as  to  let  my  heart  feel  the  weight  of  her  own, 
a movement  of  the  mother  wishing  to  communicate 
her  joy,  and  whispered  to  me  : 

“ You  bring  us  happiness  ! ” 

Truly,  for  me  who  knew  her  sleepless  nights,  her 
anxieties  and  her  previous  life  in  which  she  had  been 
sustained  by  the  hand  of  God,  but  in  which  all  was 
barren  and  irksome,  these  words  emphasized  by  her 
rich  voice  unfolded  delights  which  no  other  woman 
in  the  world  could  ever  give  me. 

“ The  miserable  monotony  of  my  days  is  broken, 
life  grows  fair  with  hope,”  she  said  after  a pause. 
“ Oh  ! do  not  leave  me  ! do  not  ever  betray  my  in- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  155 

nocent  superstitions  ! be  the  first  born  who  becomes 
the  savior  of  his  brethren  ! ” 

Here,  Natalie,  nothing  is  romantic  ; in  order  to 
discover  the  infinity  of  deep  feelings,  one  must  in 
one's  youth  have  cast  the  lead  into  those  great  lakes 
upon  the  brink  of  which  one  has  lived.  If  with 
many  beings,  the  passions  have  been  as  torrents  of 
lava  flowing  between  parched  banks,  are  there  not 
some  souls  in  whom  passion,  restrained  through  in- 
superable difficulties,  has  filled  the  crater  of  the 
volcano  with  pure  water  ? 

Once  more  we  had  a similar  fete.  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  wanted  to  accustom  her  children  to  the 
realities  of  life,  and  acquaint  them  with  the  painful 
labors  by  which  money  is  gained ; and  so  she  had 
assigned  them  revenues  subject  to  the  chances  of 
agriculture ; to  Jacques  belonged  the  produce  of  the 
walnut-trees,  to  Madeleine  that  of  the  chestnuts. 

A few  days  after  that,  we  had  the  gathering  of  the 
chestnuts  and  walnuts.  To  go  and  beat  Madeleine's 
chestnut  trees,  to  hear  the  fruit  falling  as  their 
burrs  rebounded  upon  the  dead,  dry  velvet  of  the 
ungrateful  soil  where  the  chestnut-tree  grows ; to 
see  the  serious  gravity  with  which  the  little  girl  ex- 
amined the  heaps  while  estimating  their  value, 
which  for  her  meant  the  pleasures  that  she  gave  her- 
self unchecked  ; the  congratulations  of  Manette,  the 
housekeeper  who  alone  helped  the  countess  with  her 
children ; the  lessons  afforded  by  the  sight  of  the 
trouble  entailed  in  the  collection  of  the  least  riches, 
so  often  imperilled  by  the  alternations  of  climate, 


156  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

made  a scene  in  which  the  simple  joys  of  childhood 
stood  out  charmingly  in  the  midst  of  the  sombre  tints 
of  early  autumn.  Madeleine  had  her  own  storehouse, 
where  1 wanted  to  see  her  dusky  treasure  put  away, 
while  sharing  in  her  delight.  Well,  to-day  I still  thrill 
at  the  recollection  of  the  noise  made  by  each  basket- 
ful of  chestnuts  as  they  rolled  on  to  the  yellowish 
fibre  mixed  with  earth  which  did  duty  as  a floor. 
The  count  took  some  for  the  house  ; the  gatherers, 
the  servants,  and  everyone  round  about  Cloche- 
gourde  procured  buyers  for  la  Mignonne,  the  friendly 
epithet  that  in  the  country  the  peasants  willingly 
bestow  even  upon  strangers,  but  which  seemed  to 
belong  exclusively  to  Madeleine. 

Jacques  was  less  fortunate  in  his  walnut  crop,  it 
rained  for  several  days ; but  I consoled  him  by  ad- 
vising him  to  keep  his  nuts  so  as  to  sell  them  a little 
later.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  had  told  me  that  the 
walnut  trees  yielded  nothing  in  Brehemont,  neither 
in  the  district  of  Amboise,  nor  in  that  of  Vouvray. 
Walnut  oil  is  greatly  used  in  Touraine.  Jacques 
ought  to  get  at  least  forty  sous  from  each  tree, 
there  were  two  hundred  of  them,  so  the  sum  was 
considerable  ! he  wanted  to  buy  himself  a riding  out- 
fit. His  wish  started  a public  discussion  in  which 
his  father  made  him  some  reflections  upon  the  insta- 
bility of  incomes,  and  upon  the  necessity  of  establish- 
ing reserves  for  those  years  when  the  trees  might  be 
unfruitful,  so  as  to  obtain  an  average  income.  I 
knew  what  the  countess  was  feeling  in  her  silence  ; 
she  was  rejoiced  to  see  Jacques  listening  to  t)is 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


157 


father,  and  the  father  recovering  a little  of  the  sacred- 
ness in  which  he  was  wanting,  thanks  to  that 
sublime  delusion  that  she  had  prepared.  Have  I not 
told  you,  in  describing  this  woman,  that  earthly 
language  would  fail  to  convey  her  traits  and  her 
genius  ? When  such  scenes  as  this  occur,  the  heart 
enjoys  their  delights  without  analyzing  them  ; but 
with  what  force  they  stand  out  later  on  against  the 
obscure  background  of  a fitful  life  ! like  diamonds, 
they  gleam  set  in  thoughts  full  of  alloy,  regrets 
blended  with  the  memory  of  vanished  happiness ! 
Why  is  it  that  the  names  of  the  two  newly  pur- 
chased estates,  with  which  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  were  so  much  occupied,  La  Cassine  and  La 
Rhetoriere,  move  me  more  than  the  most  beautiful 
names  in  the  Holy  Land  or  Greece  ? Whoso  loves , 

declares  it!  La  Fontaine  has  said.  These  names 
possess  the  talismanic  virtues  of  the  astrological 
words  used  in  evocations,  they  teach  me  the  meaning 
of  magic,  they  waken  sleeping  figures  who  imme- 
diately arise  and  speak  to  me,  they  take  me  to  that 
happy  valley,  they  create  a sky  and  scenery  ; but  are 
not  evocations  always  taking  place  in  the  regions  of 
the  spiritual  world  ? Do  not  be  astonished  then  to  see 
me  entertaining  you  with  such  familiar  scenes.  The 
slightest  details  of  this  simple  and  almost  com- 
mon-place life  have  been  like  so  many  apparently 
slender  links,  by  which  I was  closely  united  to  the 
countess. 

The  children’s  interests  caused  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf as  much  worry  as  did  their  feeble  health.  I 


1 58 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


very  soon  recognized  the  truth  of  what  she  had  told 
me  relative  to  her  secret  role  in  the  household  affairs, 
into  which  I gradually  became  initiated  while  learn- 
ing details  about  the  country  that  a statesman  ought 
to  know. 

After  a ten  years’  struggle,  the  countess  had 
changed  the  cultivation  of  her  estates  ; she  had  put 
them  out  in  fours , an  expression  which  is  used  in  the 
country  to  explain  the  results  of  the  new  method 
according  to  which  the  farmers  sow  wheat  but  once 
in  four  years,  in  order  that  the  ground  may  yield 
produce  every  year.  In  order  to  overcome  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  peasants,  it  had  been  necessary  to 
cancel  leases,  divide  the  estates  into  four  big  farms 
and  hold  them  on  half  profits,  a form  of  cattle  lease 
peculiar  to  Touraine  and  the  neighboring  country. 
The  owner  gives  the  house,  the  farm  buildings  and 
seeds  to  willing  farmers  with  whom  he  divides  the 
expenses  of  cultivation  and  the  profits.  This  divi- 
sion is  superintended  by  a metivier,  a man  who  is 
commissioned  to  take  the  half  due  to  the  proprietor, 
an  expensive  system  complicated  by  accounts  that 
vary  every  moment  with  the  nature  of  the  lots. 
The  countess  had  made  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  culti- 
vate a fifth  farm  composed  of  private  grounds 
situated  round  Clochegourde,  as  much  to  occupy 
him  as  to  prove  to  her  farmers  on  half  profits,  the 
excellence  of  the  new  methods.  Being  skilled  in 
managing  cultivation,  she  had  slowly,  and  with 
womanlike  persistence,  had  two  of  her  small  farms 
remodelled  on  the  plan  of  the  farms  of  Artois  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


159 


Flanders.  To  guess  her  purpose  is  easy.  After 
the  expiration  of  the  leases  on  half  profits,  the 
countess  wanted  to  make  two  good  farms  of  her  four 
small  ones,  and  to  let  them  in  cash  to  active,  intelli- 
gent people,  so  as  to  simplify  the  revenues  of 
Clochegourde.  Fearing  to  die  the  first,  she  was 
trying  to  leave  the  count  revenues  that  could  be 
easily  collected,  and  the  children  possessions  that  no 
incapacity  could  imperil.  At  the  present  time,  fruit 
trees  that  had  been  planted  ten  years  were  in  full 
bearing.  The  hedges  which  guaranteed  the  prop- 
erty from  any  future  contest  were  grown.  The 
poplars,  elms,  all  had  been  successful.  With  the 
new  purchases  and  by  introducing  everywhere  the 
new  system  of  cultivation,  the  estate  of  Cloche- 
gourde, divided  into  four  large  farms,  two  of  which 
were  still  to  be  established  was  capable  of  bringing  in 
sixteen  thousand  francs  cash,  at  the  rate  of  four  thou- 
sand francs  for  each  farm  ; without  counting  the 
vineyard,  or  the  two  hundred  acres  of  wood  adjoin- 
ing, or  the  model  farm.  The  roads  from  her  four 
farms  could  all  lead  into  a big  avenue  which  was  to 
go  in  a straight  line  from  Clochegourde  to  join  the 
road  to  Chinon.  The  distance  between  this  avenue 
and  Tours  being  only  five  leagues,  she  ought  not  to  be 
short  of  farmers,  particularly  at  a time  when  every- 
one was  talking  about  the  amendments  made  by  the 
count,  of  their  success,  and  the  improvement  of  his 
estates.  In  each  of  the  newly  bought  properties, 
she  wanted  to  have  invested  about  fifteen  thousand 
francs  so  as  to  turn  the  masters’  houses  into  two 


160  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

great  farms,  in  order  to  let  them  better  after  having 
cultivated  them  for  a year  or  two  while  sending 
there  as  bailiff  one  Martineau,  the  best  and  most 
honest  of  her  metiviers , who  would  shortly  be  out  of 
a place ; for  the  leases  on  half  profits  of  her  four 
farms  were  drawing  to  a close,  and  .the  time  had 
come  for  combining  them  into  two  farms  and  letting 
them  for  cash. 

Her  ideas,  which  were  so  simple,  but  complicated 
by  the  laying  out  of  thirty  odd  thousand  francs,  were 
at  this  period  the  subject  of  long  discussions  between 
herself  and  the  count ; terrible  quarrels,  in  which 
she  was  upheld  only  by  the  interests  of  her  two 
children.  The  thought : “ If  I were  to  die  to-mor- 
row, what  would  happen  ? ” gave  her  palpita- 
tions. Gentle,  quiet  souls  with  whom  anger  is 
impossible,  who  only  wish  to  see  reigning  around 
them  their  own  deep  inward  peace,  alone  know 
much  strength  is  required  in  these  struggles,  what 
full  surges  of  blood  rush  to  the  heart  before  the  com- 
mencement of  the  fight,  what  weariness  takes  hold 
of  the  being  when,  after  having  wrestled,  nothing  is 
gained.  Just  as  her  children  were  less  sickly,  less  thin, 
and  more  active,  for  the  fruit  season  had  had  its  effects 
upon  them  ; just  as  she  was  following  them  in  their 
games  with  moistened  eyes,  feeling  a contentment 
that  renewed  her  strength  by  refreshing  her  heart, 
the  poor  woman  was  suffering  the  insulting  bicker- 
ings and  stinging  attacks  of  a bitter  opposition. 
The  count,  alarmed  at  these  changes,  denied  their 
advantages  and  feasibility  with  dense  obstinacy.  To 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  161 

conclusive  arguments  he  would  reply  with  the  objec- 
tion of  a child  who  would  call  in  question  the  in- 
fluence of  the  sun  in  summer.  The  countess  out- 
weighed him.  The  victory  of  common  sense  over 
folly  eased  her  wounds,  she  forgot  her  injuries. 
That  day  she  went  for  a walk  to  La  Cassine  and  La 
Rhetoriere,  in  order  to  decide  upon  the  buildings. 
The  count  walked  on  alone  in  front,  the  children  di- 
vided us,  and  we  were  both  behind,  following  slowly, 
for  she  was  talking  to  me  in  that  low  gentle  voice 
which  made  her  words  seem  like  little  waves,  mur- 
mured by  the  sea  on  the  fine  sand. 

She  was  sure  of  success,  she  was  telling  me. 
Competition  was  about  to  be  established  in  the 
traffic  from  Tours  to  Chinon,  undertaken  by  an 
active  man,  a carrier,  a cousin  of  Manette,  who 
wanted  to  have  a large  farm  on  the  road.  He  had 
a numerous  family  ; the  eldest  son  was  to  drive  the 
carriages,  the  second  the  wagons  ; the  father,  settled 
on  the  road,  at  La  Rabelaye,  one  of  the  farms  to  be 
let  and  in  a central  situation,  would  be  able  to  super- 
intend the  stages  and  thoroughly  cultivate  the 
estates  by  improving  them  with  the  manure  yielded 
by  his  stables.  As  to  the  second  farm,  La  Baude, 
which  was  only  a step  from  Clochegourde,  one 
of  their  four  farmers,  an  honest,  intelligent  and 
active  man  who  foresaw  the  advantages  of  the  new 
cultivation,  had  already  offered  to  take  it  on  a lease. 
As  to  La  Cassine  and  La  Rhetoriere,  these  properties 
were  the  best  in  the  country  ; once  the  farmhouses 
were  built  and  the  land  in  a good  state,  they  would 


1 62  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

only  need  to  be  advertised  in  Tours.  In  this  way, 
in  two  years  Clochegourde  would  bring  in  about 
twenty-four  thousand  francs  a year ; La  Gravelotte, 
the  farm  at  Maine  which  had  been  recovered  by 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  had  just  been  taken  at  seven 
thousand  francs  for  nine  years ; the  pension  of  a 
Major-General  was  about  four  thousand  francs ; if 
this  income  did  not  yet  constitute  a fortune,  it  pro- 
cured great  comfort ; later  on,  other  improvements 
might  perhaps  enable  her  to  go  one  day  to  Paris  to 
superintend  the  education  of  Jacques,  in  two  years, 
when  the  health  of  the  heir  apparent  should  be 
established. 

With  what  trepidation  she  uttered  the  word  Paris ! 
I was  at  the  bottom  of  this  plan,  she  wished  to  be 
apart  from  the  friend  as  little  as  possible.  At  this 
word,  I fired  up,  and  told  her  that  she  did  not  know 
me ; that,  without  a word  to  her,  I had  plotted  to 
complete  my  education  by  working  night  and  day  so 
as  to  become  tutor  to  Jacques  ; for  I should  never  be 
able  to  endure  the  idea  of  a young  man  being  in  her 
home. 

At  these  words,  she  grew  serious. 

“No,  Felix,”  she  said,  “this  cannot  be  any 
more  than  your  priesthood.  If,  by  a single 
word  you  have  touched  the  mother  to  the  very 
bottom  of  her  heart,  the  woman  loves  you  too  sin- 
cerely to  allow  you  to  become  the  victim  of  your 
attachment.  An  irretrievable  discredit  would  be  the 
reward  for  this  devotion,  and  I should  not  be  able  to 
help  it.  Oh  ! no,  may  I never  be  fatal  to  you  in 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  163 

anything!  You,  Vicomte  de  Vandenesse,  a tutor? 
You ! whose  noble  device  is  Sell  not  thyself! 
Were  you  a Richelieu,  life  would  be  for  ever  barred 
to  you.  You  would  cause  your  family  the  very 
greatest  sorrow.  My  friend,  you  do  not  know  what 
impertinence  a woman  like  my  mother  can  put  into 
a patronizing  look,  what  humiliation  into  a word, 
what  contempt  into  a nod.” 

“ And  if  you  love  me,  what  is  the  world  to  me?  ” 
She  pretended  not  to  hear  and  continued  : 

“ Although  my  father  is  kind  and  disposed  to 
grant  me  all  that  I ask,  he  would  never  forgive  you 
for  having  placed  yourself  badly  in  society  and 
would  refuse  to  support  you.  I would  not  see  you 
tutor  to  the  Dauphin  ! Accept  society  as  it  is,  and 
make  no  mistakes  in  life.  My  friend,  this  foolish 
proposition  of — ” 

“ Of  love,”  I said  in  a low  voice. 

“ No,  of  charity,”  she  said,  restraining  her  tears, 
“ this  mad  idea  enlightens  me  as  to  your  character ; 
your  heart  will  be  your  ruin.  From  this  moment,  I 
claim  the  right  to  teach  you  certain  things  ; leave  to 
my  woman’s  eyes  the  task  of  sometimes  seeing  for 
you.  Yes,  from  the  far  corner  of  my  Clochegourde, 
I,  silent  and  glad,  want  to  help  in  your  success. 
As  to  a tutor,  well,  do  not  worry,  we  will  find  a 
good  old  abbe,  some  former  Jesuit  scholar  and 
my  father  will  willingly  sacrifice  a certain  sum 
for  the  education  of  the  child  who  is  to  bear  his 
name.  Jacques  is  my  pride.  And  yet  he  is  eleven 
years  old,”  she  said  after  a pause,  “ but  it  is  with 


164  the  lily  of  the  valley 

him  as  it  was  with  you  ; at  first  sight  I thought  you 
were  thirteen/’ 

We  had  arrived  at  La  Cassine,  where  Jacques, 
Madeleine  and  I followed  her  just  as  little  ones 
follow  their  mother ; but  we  were  in  her  way  ; I left 
her  for  a moment  and  went  into  the  orchard, 
where  Martineau  senior,  her  keeper,  together  with 
Martineau  junior,  the  metivier , were  considering 
whether  the  trees  should  or  should  not  be  felled ; 
they  were  discussing  this  point  as  if  it  were  a ques- 
tion of  their  own  possessions.  I then  saw  how  much 
the  countess  was  beloved.  I expressed  my  opinion 
to  a poor  day-laborer  who,  with  his  foot  on  his  spade 
and  his  elbow  resting  on  the  handle,  was  listening  to 
the  two  doctors  in  pomology. 

“ Ah ! yes,  monsieur,”  he  replied,  “ she  is  a 
good  woman  and  not  proud,  like  all  those  apes  at 
Azay  who  would  see  us  die  like  dogs  rather  than 
yield  us  a sou  on  six  feet  of  a ditch  ! The  day 
that  woman  leaves  the  country,  the  holy  Virgin 
will  weep,  and  so  shall  we.  She  knows  what  is  her 
due ; but  she  knows  our  difficulties,  and  makes 
allowances  for  them. 

With  what  pleasure  I gave  all  my  money  to  this 
man ! 


A few  days  afterward  there  came  a pony  for 
Jacques  whom  his  father,  an  excellent  rider,  wanted 
to  slowly  accustom  to  the  fatigues  of  horsemanship. 
The  child  had  a pretty  riding  suit,  bought  with  the 
profits  from  the  walnuts.  The  morning  he  took  his 
first  lesson,  accompanied  by  his  father  and  by  the 
shrieks  of  the  astonished  Madeleine  who  jumped  about 
on  the  turf  around  which  Jacques  was  trotting,  was, 
to  the  countess,  the  first  great  fete  of  her  maternity. 
Jacques  wore  a tucker  embroidered  by  his  mother, 
a little  riding-coat  of  sky-blue  cloth  fastened  into  a 
belt  of  varnished  leather,  white  pleated  knicker- 
bockers and  a Scotch  cap  from  which  his  yellow  hair 
fell  in  great  curls  ; he  was  lovely  to  look  upon.  The 
servants  belonging  to  the  house  also  gathered  to 
share  in  this  domestic  happiness.  The  young  heir 
smiled  at  his  mother  as  he  passed  and  held  himself 
fearlessly.  This  first  manly  act  on  the  part  of  a 
child  over  whom  death  so  often  seemed  to  hover, 
the  hope  of  a great  future,  guaranteed  by  this  ride  in 
which  he  looked  so  fair,  so  pretty,  and  so  fresh, 
what  a delicious  reward  ! The  joy  of  the  father,  who 
seemed  to  be  growing  young  once  more  and  was 
(^5) 


1 66 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


smiling  for  the  first  time  in  a long  while,  the  delight 
expressed  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  servants,  the  excla- 
mation of  an  old  De  Lenoncourt  groom  who  was  on 
his  way  home  from  Tours,  and  who,  seeing  the 
manner  in  which  the  child  was  holding  the  reins, 
said  : 

“ Bravo,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  ! ” 

It  was  too  much,  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  burst 
into  tears.  She,  so  calm  in  sorrow,  found  herself 
too  weak  to  endure  the  delight  of  admiring  her  child 
riding  over  this  gravel  where  she  had  often  wept 
over  him  beforehand,  while  walking  him  up  and 
down  in  the  sun.  At  this  moment,  she  leaned  upon 
my  arm  without  compunction,  and  said  : 

“ I think  I have  never  suffered.  Do  not  leave  us 
to-day.” 

The  lesson  over,  Jacques  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  his  mother,  who  caught  him  and  pressed 
him  to  her  with  the  intensity  that  comes  from  exces- 
sive delight,  and  there  were  kisses  and  caresses 
without  end.  I went  with  Madeleine  to  gather 
two  magnificent  bouquets  so  as  to  decorate  the  table 
in  honor  of  the  cavalier.  When  we  returned  to  the 
salon,  the  countess  said  to  me  : 

“ The  15th  of  October  will  indeed  be  a great  day  ! 
Jacques  has  had  his  first  riding  lesson,  and  I have 
just  made  the  last  stitch  in  my  work.” 

“ Well,  Blanche,”  said  the  count,  laughing,  “ I 
want  to  pay  you  for  it.” 

He  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  into  the  front 
courtyard,  where  she  saw  a barouche  that  her  father 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


167 


was  giving  her,  and  for  which  the  count  had  bought 
two  horses  in  England,  brought  over  with  those 
of  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt.  The  old  groom  had 
prepared  it  all  in  the  front  yard,  during  the  lesson. 
We  dragged  the  carriage  along  while  going  to  see 
the  plan  of  the  avenue  which  was  to  lead  in  a 
straight  line  from  Clochegourde  to  the  Chinon  road, 
and  which  the  recent  acquisitions  enabled  to  be  made 
across  the  new  estates.  Coming  back,  the  countess 
said  to  me  with  an  air  full  of  melancholy  : 

“ I am  too  happy  ; happiness  is  like  an  illness  to  me, 
it  overcomes  me,  and  I am  afraid  lest  it  should  fade 
away  like  a dream.’ * 

I loved  her  too  passionately  not  to  be  jealous,  and 
I,  I could  give  her  nothing ! In  my  rage,  I was 
casting  about  for  some  means  of  dying  for  her.  She 
asked  me  what  were  the  thoughts  that  were 
clouding  my  eyes,  I told  them  to  her  naively,  she 
was  more  touched  by  them  than  by  all  the  presents, 
and  shed  balm  into  my  heart,  when,  after  having  led 
me  out  upon  the  steps,  she  whispered  : 

“ Love  me  as  my  aunt  loved  me,  will  not  that  be 
to  give  me  your  life  ? and,  if  I take  it  in  this  way, 
does  that  not  make  me  your  debtor  at  every  moment  ? 
— It  was  quite  time  to  finish  my  tapestry,”  she 
continued,  going  back  into  the  salon,  where  I kissed 
her  hand  as  if  in  renewal  of  my  vows,  “ Perhaps 
you  do  not  know,  Felix,  why  I set  myself  this 
lengthy  task  ? In  the  occupations  of  their  life,  men 
find  resource  in  vexations,  the  excitement  of  business 
districts  them  ; but,  we  women,  we  have  no  stay  in 


i68 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


our  minds  in  our  miseries.  In  order  to  be  able  to 
smile  at  my  children  and  my  husband  when  I was  a 
prey  to  sad  ideas,  I felt  the  need  of  regulating  the 
suffering  by  some  physical  movement.  In  this  way 
I avoided  the  relaxation  that  follows  great  expen- 
diture of  strength,  as  well  as  the  flashes  of  exalta- 
tion. The  action  of  lifting  the  arm  at  equal  intervals 
lulled  my  mind  and  imparted  to  my  soul,  wherein 
the  tempest  raged,  the  peace  of  the  ebb  and  flow  by 
thus  regulating  its  emotions.  Each  stitch  shared  the 
confidence  of  my  secrets,  do  you  see  ? Well  then, 
in  working  at  my  last  armchair,  I was  thinking  too 
much  of  you  ! yes,  a great  deal  too  much,  my  friend. 
What  you  put  into  your  bouquets,  I used  to  whisper 
to  my  patterns.” 

The  dinner  was  gay.  Jacques,  like  all  children 
who  are  thought  of,  flung  his  arms  round  my  neck  at 
sight  of  the  flowers  that  I had  gathered  for  him  in 
the  shape  of  a crown.  His  mother  pretended  to 
sulk  with  me  because  of  this  infidelity ; you  can 
imagine  with  what  grace  the  dear  child  offered 
her  this  coveted  bouquet ! That  evening,  we  all 
three  played  backgammon,  I alone  against  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  the  count  was 
charming.  Lastly,  at  nightfall  they  escorted  me  as 
far  as  the  path  to  Frapesle,  on  one  of  those  quiet 
evenings,  the  harmonies  of  which  add  in  depth  to  the 
feelings  what  they  lose  in  animation.  It  was  a 
unique  day  in  this  poor  woman’s  life,  a brilliant  spot 
that  often  came  to  smile  upon  her  memory  in  hours 
of  trial.  Indeed,  the  riding  lessons  soon  became  a. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  169 

subject  of  discord.  The  countess  rightly  feared 
the  father’s  harsh  reproaches  to  the  son.  Jacques 
was  already  growing  thin,  dark  rings  were  encircling 
his  beautiful  blue  eyes  ; to  spare  his  mother  sorrow, 
he  preferred  to  suffer  in  silence.  I hit  upon  a remedy 
for  his  ills  by  advising  him  to  tell  his  father  that  he 
was  tired,  when  the  count  flew  into  a rage ; but 
these  palliatives  were  inadequate ; the  old  groom 
was  obliged  to  take  the  place  of  the  father,  who  did 
not  allow  his  pupil  to  be  wrested  from  him  without 
wrangling.  The  outcries  and  discussions  were 
renewed  ; the  count  found  themes  for  his  continual 
plaints  in  the  want  of  gratitude  in  women  ; twenty 
times  a day  he  taunted  his  wife  about  the  carriage, 
horses  and  liveries.  Finally,  there  occurred  one  of 
those  incidents  which  such  characters  and  infirmities 
love  to  take  hold  of : the  expenditure  exceeded  by 
one  half  the  estimates  at  La  Cassine  and  La  Rheto- 
riere,  where  the  walls  and  rotten  planks  collapsed. 
A workman  stupidly  came  to  announce  this  news 
to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  instead  of  telling  it  to  the 
countess.  It  was  the  subject  of  a quarrel  begun  at 
first  quite  mildly,  but  which  gradually  became 
embittered,  and  in  which  the  count’s  hypochondria, 
allayed  for  several  days,  demanded  its  arrears  from 
the  poor  Henriette. 

That  day,  I had  left  Frapesle  at  half-past  ten, 
after  breakfast,  so  as  to  come  and  make  up  a bouquet 
at  Clochegourde  with  Madeleine.  The  child  had 
brought  me  the  two  vases  out  on  the  balustrade  of 
the  terrace,  and  I went  into  the  surrounding  gardens, 


170 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


hunting  for  the  autumn  flowers,  so  beautiful  but  so 
rare.  Upon  returning  from  my  final  excursion,  I did 
not  see  my  little  lieutenant  in  the  pink  sash  and 
scolloped  tippet,  and  I heard  shouts  coming  from 
Clochegourde. 

“ The  general,”  said  Madeleine  in  tears — and  with 
her  this  word  was  a word  of  hatred  of  her  father — 
“the  general  is  scolding  our  mother,  do  go  and  de- 
fend her.” 

I flew  up  the  steps  and  reached  the  salon  without 
being  noticed  or  greeted  by  the  count  or  his  wife. 
At  the  madman’s  piercing  shrieks  I went  to  shut  all 
the  doors,  then  I returned  ; I saw  that  Henriette  was 
as  white  as  her  dress. 

“Never  marry,  Felix,”  said  the  count,  “a  woman 
is  counselled  by  the  devil ; the  most  virtuous  of  them 
would  invent  evil  where  it  did  not  exist,  they  are  all 
brutes.” 

Then  I listened  to  arguments  with  neither  begin- 
ning nor  end.  Taking  advantage  of  his  former  ne- 
gations, Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  repeated  the  nonsense 
of  the  peasants  who  objected  to  the  new  methods. 
He  declared  that,  had  he  managed  Clochegourde,  he 
would  be  twice  as  rich  as  he  was.  While  giving 
violent  and  abusive  expression  to  his  blasphemies, 
he  was  swearing,  jumping  from  one  article  of  fur- 
niture to  another,  displacing  them  and  thump- 
ing them  ; then,  in  the  middle  of  a sentence  he 
would  break  off  to  speak  of  his  backbone  which 
was  burning,  or  of  his  brain  which  was  escaping  in 
torrents,  like  his  money.  His  wife  was  ruining  him. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  171 

Wretched  man,  of  the  thirty  odd  thousand  francs 
income  he  possessed,  she  had  already  brought  him 
more  than  twenty.  The  estates  of  the  duke  and 
those  of  the  duchess  were  worth  more  than  fifty 
thousand  francs  a year,  in  reserve  for  Jacques.  The 
countess  was  smiling  proudly,  and  looking  to  Heaven. 

“ Yes,”  he  cried,  “ Blanche,  you  are  my  execu- 
tioner, you  are  killing  me  ; I know  you ! you  want 
to  get  rid  of  me,  you  are  a monster  of  hypocrisy. 
She  laughs ! — Do  you  know  why  she  is  laughing, 
Felix  ? ” 

I was  silent  and  bent  my  head. 

“ This  woman,”  he  continued,  answering  his  own 
question,  “ severs  me  from  all  happiness,  she  is  as 
much  mine  as  she  is  yours,  and  she  pretends  to  be  my 
wife  ! She  bears  my  name  and  fulfils  none  of  the 
duties  that  divine  and  human  laws  impose  upon  her, 
so  she  lies  both  to  men  and  God.  She  wears  me  out 
with  walks  and  tires  me  so  that  I may  let  her  alone  ; 
I am  not  pleasing  to  her,  she  hates  me,  and  employs 
all  her  cunning  so  as  to  remain  a girl ; she  drives  me 
mad  by  the  deprivation  she  causes  me,  for  then  all 
goes  to  my  poor  head  ; she  is  killing  me  by  inches 
and  fancies  herself  a saint,  who  takes  the  Sacrament 
every  month  ! ” 

The  countess  was  now  weeping  bitter  tears,  humil- 
iated by  the  degradation  of  this  man,  to  whom  for  all 
answer  she  said : 

“ Monsieur ! — monsieur ! — monsieur ! — ” 

Although  the  count’s  words  made  me  blush  for 
him  g/5  for  Henriette,  they  stirred  my  heart  deeply, 


172 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


for  they  were  in  accordance  with  the  feelings  of 
purity  and  delicacy  which  are  the  fabric,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  first  passion. 

“She  is  virgin  at  my  expense,”  said  the  count. 
At  that  word  the  countess  cried  : 

“ Monsieur ! ” 

“ What  do  you  mean,”  he  said,  “ with  your  impe- 
rious monsieur  ? am  I not  the  master  ? must  I then 
teach  you  that  ? ” 

He  advanced  to  her,  protruding  his  now  hideous 
head  like  that  of  a white  wolf,  for  in  his  yellow  eyes 
was  an  expression  which  made  him  look  like  a starv- 
ing beast  coming  out  of  a wood.  Henriette  slid  from 
her  chair  to  the  ground  to  take  the  blow  which  did 
not  come  ; she  had  fallen  at  full  length  upon  the  floor, 
unconscious,  completely  crushed.  The  count  was 
like  a murderer  who  feels  the  blood  of  his  victim 
spirting  in  his  face,  he  stood  quite  stupefied.  I lifted 
the  poor  woman  up  in  my  arms,  the  count  let  me 
take  her  as  if  he  felt  himself  unfit  to  carry  her ; but 
he  went  before  me  to  open  the  door  of  the  room  next 
the  salon,  the  sacred  chamber  which  I had  never 
entered.  I placed  the  countess  on  her  feet,  and  held 
her  a moment  in  one  arm,  passing  the  other  round 
her  waist,  while  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  removing 
the  counterpane,  the  eiderdown  and  the  bed  clothing  ; 
then  we  lifted  her  and  laid  her,  all  dressed,  on  the 
bed.  Upon  recovering  consciousness,  Henriette 
begged  us  by  a gesture  to  undo  her  waistband  ; Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  found  some  scissors  and  cut  every- 
thing, I made  her  inhale  some  salts,  she  opened  her 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


173 


eyes.  The  count  went  away,  more  ashamed  than 
sorry.  Two  hours  passed  in  profound  silence.  Hen- 
riette’s  hand  was  in  mine,  and  she  pressed  it  without 
being  able  to  speak.  From  time  to  time,  she  would 
raise  her  eyes  to  tell  me  with  a look  that  she  wanted 
to  remain  undisturbed  and  quiet ; then  there  was  a 
moment’s  pause  in  which  she  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow  and  whispered  to  me  : 

“ The  poor  man ! if  you  knew — ” She  laid 
her  head  again  upon  the  pillow.  The  recollection  of 
her  past  trouble,  added  to  her  present  sufferings,  sent 
her  into  nervous  convulsions  which  I could  only  calm 
through  the  magnetism  of  love  ; a power  as  yet  un- 
known to  me,  but  which  I employed  instinctively.  I 
held  her  with  tenderly  modulated  strength  ; and, 
during  this  last  fit,  she  looked  at  me  in  such  a way 
as  to  make  me  weep.  When  her  nervous  attacks 
ceased,  I rearranged  her  disordered  hair,  which  I 
touched  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  ; then 
I took  her  hand  again  and  looked  long  at  the  brown 
and  gray  room,  the  simple  bed  with  curtains  of 
chintz,  the  table  covered  with  a toilet-cloth  trimmed 
in  the  old-fashioned  way,  the  shabby  sofa  with  the 
quilted  cushion.  What  poetry  in  this  spot ! What 
neglect  of  luxury  for  herself ! her  luxury  was  the 
most  exquisite  cleanliness.  Noble  cell  of  a religious 
wife  full  of  saintly  resignation,  in  which  the  only 
ornament  was  the  bedside  crucifix,  above  which 
was  the  portrait  of  her  aunt ; then,  on  each  side  of 
the  holy  water  font,  pencil  drawings  of  her  two  chil- 
dren/done by  herself,  and  their  hair  from  the  time 


174 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


they  were  little.  What  a retreat  for  a woman  whose 
appearance  in  the  fashionable  world  would  have 
thrown  the  fairest  into  the  shade  ! Such  was  the  bou- 
doir where  the  daughter  of  an  illustrious  house  ever 
mourned,  just  now  overwhelmed  with  bitterness  and 
denying  herself  the  love  which  would  have  con- 
soled her.  Secret  and  irreparable  misery  ! And 
tears  from  the  victim  for  the  persecutor,  and  tears 
from  the  persecutor  for  the  victim.  When  the  chil- 
dren and  the  maid  came  in,  I went  out.  The  count 
was  waiting  for  me,  he  already  acknowledged  me  as 
a mediatory  power  between  his  wife  and  himself ; 
and  he  seized  my  hands  crying : 

“ Stay  ! stay,  Felix  ! ” 

“ Unfortunately, ” I said,  “ Monsieur  de  Chessel 
has  company,  it  would  not  be  advisable  that  his 
guests  should  inquire  into  the  reasons  of  my  ab- 
sence ; but,  after  dinner  I will  come  back.” 

He  came  out  with  me,  and  conducted  me  as  far  as 
the  lower  door  without  saying  a word  ; then  he  ac- 
companied me  as  far  as  Frapesle  without  knowing 
what  he  was  doing.  At  last,  there,  I said  to  him  : 
“ For  Heaven’s  sake,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  let  her 
manage  your  house,  if  that  pleases  her,  and  do  not 
torment  her  any  more.” 

“ I have  not  long  to  live,”  he  said  in  a serious 
way;  “she  will  not  suffer  long  through  me,  I feel 
that  my  head  is  bursting.” 

And  he  left  me  in  a paroxysm  of  unwitting 
egotism. 

After  dinner,  I returned  for  news  of  Madame  de. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


175 


Mortsauf,  whom  I found  already  better.  If  such,  for 
her,  were  the  joys  of  marriage,  if  similar  scenes 
often  recurred,  how  could  she  live  ? What  slow  un- 
punished murder ! All  through  that  evening,  I saw 
by  what  unheard  of  tortures  the  count  unnerved  his 
wife.  Before  what  tribunal  was  such  litigation  to  be 
brought  ? These  reflections  stupefied  me,  I could 
not  say  a word  to  Henriette  ; but  I spent  the  night 
writing  to  her.  Of  the  three  or  four  letters  that  I 
wrote,  there  remained  this  beginning,  with  which  I 
was  not  pleased  ; but,  if  it  seemed  to  me  to  express 
nothing,  or  to  be  speaking  too  much  of  myself  when 
I should  only  have  been  thinking  of  her,  it  will  show 
you  the  state  of  my  mind  : 

TO  MADAME  DE  MORTSAUF 

“ How  many  things  did  I not  have  to  say  to  you 
upon  arriving,  of  which  I was  thinking  on  the  way 
and  which  I forget  at  sight  of  you  ! Yes,  the  mo- 
ment I see  you,  dear  Henriette,  I no  longer  find  my 
words  in  harmony  with  the  reflections  of  your  soul, 
which  augment  your  beauty  ; then  beside  you  I ex- 
perience such  infinite  happiness,  that  the  actual 
feeling  effaces  the  feelings  of  the  preceding  life. 
Every  time,  I rise  to  a more  expansive  life  and  am 
like  the  traveller  who,  in  climbing  some  great  rock, 
discovers  at  each  step  anew  horizon.  At  each  fresh 
conversation,  do  1 not  add  to  my  vast  treasures  an- 
other treasure  ? In  that,  I think,  lies  the  secret  of 
long,  inexhaustible  attachments.  So  I can  only  speak 
to  you  of  yourself  when  far  away  from  you.  In  your 


1 76 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


presence,  I am  too  much  dazzled  to  see,  too  happy 
to  question  my  happiness,  too  full  of  you  to  be  my- 
self, too  eloquent  through  you  to  be  able  to  speak,  too 
eager  to  snatch  the  passing  moment  to  remember  the 
past.  You  must  know  this  constant  intoxication 
well  to  be  able  to  forgive  me  its  illusions.  Near 
you,  I can  do  nothing  but  feel.  Nevertheless,  I will 
venture  to  tell  you,  dear  Henriette,  that  never,  in 
all  the  many  joys  you  have  inspired,  have  I felt 
any  happiness  approaching  the  delight  that  filled  my 
soul  yesterday  when,  after  that  horrible  tempest  in 
which  you  fought  against  evil  with  superhuman 
courage,  you  recovered  with  me  alone,  in  the  twi- 
light of  your  room,  into  which  I was  led  by  that 
unfortunate  scene.  I only  have  known  with  what 
light  a woman  can  shine  when  she  comes  from  the 
gates  of  death  to  the  gates  of  life,  and  the  dawn  of 
regeneration  comes  to  shade  her  brow.  How  sweet 
was  your  voice  ! How  insignificant  words,  even 
yours,  seemed  to  me,  when,  in  the  sound  of  your 
adored  voice  the  vague  remembrance  of  a past  sor- 
row reappeared,  mingled  with  the  divine  consolations 
with  which  you  finally  reassured  me,  while  thus 
giving  me  your  first  thoughts.  I knew  you  to  excel 
in  all  human  splendors  ; but,  yesterday,  I caught  a 
glimpse  of  a new  Henriette  who  should  be  mine,  if 
God  so  willed.  Yesterday,  I saw  I know  not  what 
being  released  from  the  bodily  fetters  which  prevent 
us  from  rousing  the  fires  of  the  soul.  You  were 
very  beautiful  in  your  prostration,  very  majestic  in 
your  weakness  ! Yesterday,  I discovered  something 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


177 


more  beautiful  than  your  beauty,  something  sweeter 
than  your  voice,  lights  more  sparkling  than  is  the 
light  of  your  eyes,  perfumes  for  which  there  are  no 
words ; yesterday,  your  soul  was  visible  and  palpa- 
ble. Ah  ! how  I suffered  in  not  being  able  to  open 
my  heart  to  you  so  that  your  life  should  be 
thereby  renewed.  In  short,  yesterday,  I gave  up  the 
respectful  awe  with  which  you  inspire  me ; did 
not  this  swoon  draw  us  closer  together  ? Then,  I 
knew  what  it  was  to  breathe  by  breathing  with  you, 
when  the  convulsions  allowed  you  to  inhale  our  air. 
How  many  prayers  uplifted  to  Heaven  at  once  ! If 
I did  not  die  while  traversing  the  spaces  that  I 
cleared  in  order  to  ask  God  to  leave  you  still  to  me, 
one  does  not  die  either  of  joy  or  sorrow.  That 
moment  has  left  memories  buried  in  my  soul  which 
will  never  rise  again  to  its  surface  without  tears 
coming  to  my  eyes ; each  happiness  will  increase 
the  mark,  each  sorrow  will  make  them  deeper. 
Yes,  the  fears  which  agitated  my  soul  yesterday 
will  be  a term  of  comparison  for  all  my  future 
miseries,  just  as  the  joys  that  you  have  lavished 
upon  me,  fond  eternal  thought  of  my  life ! will 
predominate  over  all  the  joys  that  the  hand  of 
God  may  deign  to  shed  upon  me.  You  have  made 
me  understand  divine  love,  that  certain  love  which, 
complete  in  its  own  strength  and  duration,  knows 
neither  suspicion  nor  jealousy.” 

A profound  melancholy  was  devouring  my  soul, 
the  spectacle  of  this  domestic  life  was  distressing  to  a 
12 


i78 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


heart  young  and  inexperienced  in  social  agitation  ; 
to  find  this  abyss  upon  the  threshold  of  the  world,  a 
bottomless  gulf,  a dead  sea.  This  terrible  combina- 
tion of  misfortunes  suggested  infinite  thoughts,  and, 
at  my  first  step  in  social  life,  I had  an  immense 
measure  beside  which  the  other  scenes  referred  to 
could  no  longer  be  anything  but  trivial.  My  sadness 
gave  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chessel  the  impres- 
sion that  my  love  was  unsuccessful,  and  I had  the 
good  fortune  of  in  no  way  injuring  my  noble  Hen- 
riette  by  my  passion. 

The  next  day,  when  I went  into  the  salon,  she 
was  there  alone  ; she  contemplated  me  a moment  as 
she  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  said  : 

“ So  the  friend  will  always  be  too  tender  ? ” 

Her  eyes  moistened,  she  got  up,  then  said  in  a 
tone  of  desperate  entreaty  : 

“ Do  not  write  to  me  any  more  like  that ! ” 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  kind.  The  countess 
had  recovered  her  courage  and  serene  brow ; but 
her  color  betrayed  the  sufferings  of  the  day  before, 
which  had  been  calmed  without  being  extinguished. 
She  said  to  me  that  evening,  as  we  were  walking 
through  the  dry  autumn  leaves  which  resounded 
under  our  footsteps  : 

“ Sorrow  is  infinite,  joy  has  limits.” 

This  phrase  revealed  her  sufferings,  by  the  com- 
parison she  drew  between  them  and  her  fleeting 
pleasures. 

“ Do  not  slander  life,”  I said,  “ you  know  nothing  of 
love,  and  there  are  delights  that  radiate  to  the  skies.  ” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


179 


“ Hush  ! ” she  said,  “ I do  not  want  to  know  any- 
thing about  them.  The  Greenlander  would  die  in 
Italy  ! I am  calm  and  happy  beside  you,  I can  tell 
you  all  my  thoughts  ; do  not  destroy  my  confidence. 
Why  should  you  not  possess  the  virtue  of  the  priest 
and  the  charm  of  the  independent  man  ? ” 

“ You  would  make  one  drink  the  cup  of  hemlock, ” 
I said,  putting  her  hand  upon  my  heart,  which  was 
beating  in  hurried  thumps. 

“ Again  ! ” she  cried,  drawing  back  her  hand  as  if 
she  had  felt  some  keen  pain.  “ Then  do  you  want 
to  rob  me  of  the  sad  pleasure  of  having  the  blood  of 
my  wounds  stanched  by  a friendly  hand  ? Do  not 
add  to  my  troubles,  you  do  not  know  them  all ! 
The  most  secret  are  the  most  difficult  to  overcome. 
If  you  were  a woman,  you  would  understand  into 
what  melancholy  mingled  with  disgust  a proud 
person  sinks,  when  she  sees  herself  the  object  of 
attentions  that  do  not  in  any  way  atone  and  with 
which  someone  thinks  to  atone.  For  several  days,  I 
shall  be  flattered,  someone  will  want  to  earn  pardon 
for  the  wrong  that  someone  attributes  to  himself.  I 
might  then  obtain  consent  to  the  most  unreasonable 
whims.  I am  humbled  by  this  degradation,  by 
these  caresses  which  cease  the  day  someone  thinks  I 
have  forgotten  it  all.  To  owe  the  good  graces  of 
one's  master  to  nothing  but  his  faults — ” 

“ To  his  crimes  ! ” I said  sharply. 

“ Is  it  not  a frightful  state  of  existence  ? ” she 
said,  smiling  at  me  sadly.  “ Then  I do  not  know 
how  to  make  use  of  this  transient  power.  At  this 


180  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

moment,  I am  like  those  knights  who  did  not  strike 
their  fallen  adversary.  To  see  on  the  ground  him 
whom  we  should  honor,  to  pick  him  up  only  to  re- 
ceive fresh  blows,  to  suffer  from  his  fall  more  than  he 
himself  suffers  and  to  feel  it  a disgrace  if  one  takes 
advantage  of  a temporary  influence,  even  for  some 
useful  purpose  ; to  waste  one’s  strength,  to  consume 
the  treasures  of  the  soul  in  these  ignominious 
struggles,  to  prevail  only  as  one  receives  mortal 
wounds  ! Death  were  better.  If  I had  no  children, 
1 should  yield  myself  to  the  current  of  this  life  ; but, 
without  my  secret  courage  what  would  become  of 
them  ? I must  live  for  them,  however  painful  life 
may  be.  You  speak  to  me  of  love  ? Eh ! my 
friend,  just  think  of  the  hell  I should  fall  into  if  I 
gave  this  pitiless  being — all  weak  people  are  so — the 
right  to  despise  me  ? I could  not  endure  a suspi- 
cion ! The  purity  of  my  conduct  is  my  strength. 
Virtue,  dear  child,  has  holy  waters  into  which  one 
dips  and  from  which  one  emerges  renewed  in  the 
love  of  God  ! ” 

“ Listen,  dear  Henriette,  I have  only  one  week 
more  to  stay  here,  I wish  that — ” 

“ Ah  ! you  leave  us  ? ” she  said,  interrupting  me. 

“ But  ought  I not  to  find  out  what  my  father  has 
decided  upon  for  me  ? It  will  soon  be  three 
months — ” 

“ I have  not  counted  the  days,”  she  replied  with 
the  abandon  of  a woman  deeply  moved.  She  col- 
lected herself  and  said  : 

“ Come,  let  us  go  to  Frapesle.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


181 


She  called  the  count  and  the  children  and  asked 
for  her  shawl ; then,  when  all  was  ready,  she,  so 
deliberate,  so  calm,  was  seized  with  the  energy  of  a 
Parisienne,  and  we  set  off  in  a troop  for  Frapesle  to 
pay  a visit  that  the  countess  did  not  owe.  She  ex- 
erted herself  to  talk  to  Madame  de  Chessel,  who, 
fortunately,  was  very  diffuse  in  her  answers.  The 
count  and  Monsieur  de  Chessel  conversed  about 
their  affairs.  I was  afraid  lest  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  should  boast  about  his  carriage  and  horses,  but 
he  behaved  in  perfect  taste.  His  neighbor  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  works  that  he  was  undertaking 
at  La  Cassine  and  La  Rhetoriere. 

Upon  hearing  the  inquiry,  I looked  at  the  count, 
thinking  that  he  would  refrain  from  a subject  of 
conversation  so  fatal  in  memories,  so  cruelly  bitter 
for  him,  but  he  showed  how  urgent  it  was  to  improve 
the  state  of  agriculture  in  the  district,  to  build  fine 
farms  in  pure  and  wholesome  quarters  ; in  short,  he 
gloriously  assumed  his  wife’s  ideas.  I looked  at  the 
countess,  ashamed.  This  lack  of  delicacy  in  a man 
who  upon  certain  occasions  could  show  so  much, 
this  forgetfulness  of  the  dreadful  scene,  this  adop- 
tion of  ideas  against  which  he  had  so  violently  set 
himself,  this  belief  in  self,  petrified  me. 

When  Monsieur  de  Chessel  said  to  him  : 

“ Do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  recover  your 
outlay  ? ” 

“ Over  and  above  ! ” he  said  with  an  affirmative 
gesture. 

, Such  fits  were  only  to  be  explained  by  the  word 


182 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


insanity.  Henriette,  the  divine  creature,  was  radiant. 
Did  not  the  count  seem  to  be  a man  of  sense,  a good 
manager,  an  excellent  agronomist  ? She  stroked 
Jacques's  hair  in  rapture,  glad  for  herself,  glad  for 
her  son  ! What  a horrible  comedy,  what  a satirical 
drama  ! I was  horrified.  Later  on,  when  the  cur- 
tain of  the  social  stage  lifted  for  me,  how  many 
Mortsaufs  did  I not  see,  minus  the  flashes  of  loyalty, 
minus  the  religion  of  this  one  ! What  strange,  sar- 
castic power  is  that  which  perpetually  awards  to  the 
madman  an  angel,  to  the  sincere,  poetic  lover  a bad 
woman,  to  the  little  the  great,  and  to  this  ape  this 
beautiful-,  sublime  creature  ; to  the  noble  Juana  the 
Captain  Diard,  whose  history  you  knew  at  Bor- 
deaux ; to  Madame  de  Beauseant  a d’Ajuda,  to  Ma- 
dame d'Aiglemont  her  husband,  to  the  Marquis 
d’Espard  his  wife  ? I have  sought  long  for  the 
meaning  of  this  enigma,  I confess.  I have  unearthed 
many  secrets,  I have  discovered  the  reason  of 
several  natural  laws,  the  meaning  of  some  divine 
hieroglyphics  ; about  this  I know  nothing,  I study  it 
always  like  a figure  of  the  Indian  tomahawk,  the 
symbolic  construction  of  which  the  Brahmins  have 
kept  to  themselves.  Here,  the  spirit  of  evil  is  too 
obviously  master,  and  I dare  not  accuse  God.  Irre- 
mediable misfortunes,  who  is  it  that  takes  pleasure  in 
weaving  you  ? Could  Henriette  and  her  Mysterious 
Philosopher  then  be  right  ? can  their  mysticism  con- 
tain the  general  meaning  of  humanity  ? 


The  last  days  that  I spent  in  this  part  of  the 
country  were  those  of  leafless  autumn,  days  dark- 
ened by  clouds  that  sometimes  hid  the  Touraine  sky, 
always  so  clear  and  glowing  at  this  beautiful  season. 
On  the  eve  of  my  departure,  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
led  me  out  on  the  terrace,  before  dinner. 

“ My  dear  Felix,”  she  said,  after  a silent  turn 
under  the  dismantled  trees,  " you  are  going  into  the 
world,  and  I would  like  to  accompany  you  there  in 
thought.  Those  who  have  suffered  much  have  lived 
much  ; do  not  fancy  that  lonely  souls  know  nothing 
of  this  world  ; they  judge  it.  If  I am  to  live  through 
my  friend,  I do  not  want  to  be  uneasy  either  in  his 
heart  or  in  his  conscience  ; in  the  thick  of  battle,  it  is 
very  difficult  to  remember  all  the  rules,  allow  me  to 
give  you  a few  lessons,  as  a mother  to  a son.  The 
day  you  leave,  I will  give  you,  dear  child,  a long 
letter  in  which  you  will  find  my  woman’s  ideas 
about  the  world,  about  men,  and  about  the  way  to 
meet  the  difficulties  in  this  great  tumult  of  interests  ; 
promise  me  not  to  read  it  until  you  get  to  Paris  ? 
My  petition  is  the  utterance  of  one  of  those  freaks  of 

feeling  which  are  our  secret,  belonging  to  us 

(183) 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


184 

women  ; I do  not  think  it  is  impossible  to  understand 
it,  but  perhaps  we  should  be  sorry  to  have  it  under- 
stood ; leave  me  those  little  ways  in  which  a wo- 
man loves  to  wander  alone. ” 

“ I promise,”  I said,  kissing  her  hands. 

“ Ah  ! ” she  said,  “ 1 have  one  other  promise  to  ask 
of  you  ; but  pledge  yourself  beforehand  to  agree  to  it.” 
“ Oh  ! yes,”  I said,  thinking  it  was  going  to  be  a 
question  of  fidelity. 

“It  is  not  about  me,”  she  continued,  smiling  bit- 
terly, “ Felix,  never  gamble,  no  matter  in  what 
salon  it  may  be  ; I do  not  except  that  of  anybody.” 
“ I wifi  never  gamble,”  I replied. 

“ Good  ! ” she  said,  “ I have  hit  upon  a better  use 
for  the  time  you  might  waste  in  play  ; you  will  see 
that  where  others  are  bound  to  lose  sooner  or  later, 
you  will  always  win.” 

“ How  ? ” 

“ The  letter  will  tell  you,”  she  replied,  with  a 
playful  air  that  divested  her  admonitions  of  the 
serious  character  with  which  those  of  the  heads  of 
the  family  are  attended. 

The  countess  talked  to  me  for  about  an  hour  and 
proved  to  me  the  depth  of  her  affection  by  revealing 
to  me  how  carefully  she  had  been  studying  me  during 
these  last  three  months ; she  penetrated  into  the 
furthermost  recesses  of  my  heart,  by  trying  to  adapt 
her  own  to  it ; her  accent  was  varied,  convincing,  her 
words  fell  from  maternal  lips,  and  showed,  as  much 
in  tone  as  in  substance,  how  many  links  bound  us  to 
each  other. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  185 

“ If  you  knew/’  she  said  in  conclusion,  “with 
what  anxiety  I shall  follow  you  on  your  way,  with 
what  joy  if  you  go  right,  and  what  tears  if  you  come 
into  contact  with  corners  ! Believe  me,  my  affection 
is  unrivalled ; it  is  both  involuntary  and  deliberate. 
Ah  ! I should  like  to  see  you  happy,  powerful,  re- 
spected, you  who  will  be  like  a living  dream  to  me.” 

She  made  me  weep.  She  was  at  once  gentle  and 
awful ; her  feeling  was  too  openly  shown,  it  was  too 
pure  to  admit  of  the  least  hope  for  the  youth  who 
was  athirst  for  gratification.  In  return  for  my  flesh 
left  shredded  in  her  heart,  she  shed  upon  me  the  un- 
ceasing and  incorruptible  gleams  of  that  divine  love 
which  satisfies  only  the  soul.  She  rose  to  heights 
where  the  wings  checkered  by  the  love  that  had  led 
me  to  gloat  upon  her  shoulders,  could  not  bear  me  ; in 
order  to  reach  her,  a man  must  have  won  the  white 
wings  of  the  seraphim. 

“ In  all  things,”  I told  her,  “ I should  think : 
‘ what  would  my  Henriette  say  ? ’ ” 

“ Good,  I want  to  be  the  star  and  the  sanctuary,” 
she  said,  alluding  to  the  dreams  of  my  childhood  and 
thinking  to  proffer  me  the  realization  of  them  so  as 
to  divert  my  desires. 

“ You  shall  be  my  religion  and  my  light,  you  shall 
be  all ! ” I cried. 

“ No,”  she  replied,  “ I cannot  be  the  source  of 
your  pleasures.” 

She  sighed  and  gave  me  the  smile  of  secret  sor- 
row, the  smile  of  the  momentarily  rebellious  slave. 
I)rom  that  day,  she  was  not  the  well-beloved,  but 


1 86  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

the  best-beloved ; she  was  not  in  my  heart  like  a 
woman  who  expects  a place,  who  becomes  engraved 
there  through  devotion  or  excess  of  pleasure  ; no, 
she  had  the  whole  heart,  and  was  something  ne- 
cessary to  the  play  of  the  muscles ; she  became 
what  Beatrice  was  to  the  Florentine  poet,  the  spotless 
Laura  to  the  Venetian  poet,  the  mother  of  great 
thoughts,  the  secret  spring  of  saving  resolutions,  the 
staff  of  the  future,  the  light  that  shines  in  the  dark- 
ness as  the  lily  in  the  sombre  leaves.  Yes,  she 
prompted  those  lofty  determinations  which  sever 
the  burning  hand,  and  restore  the  endangered  prop- 
erty ; she  gave  me  that  Coligny-like  perseverance 
to  conquer  the  conquerors,  to  revive  after  defeat,  to 
tire  out  the  strongest  fighters. 

The  next  day,  after  having  breakfasted  at  Fra- 
pesle  and  said  good-bye  to  my  hosts  who  had  been  so 
lenient  to  the  selfishness  of  my  love,  I went  to 
Clochegourde.  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
had  planned  to  escort  me  as  far  as  Tours,  which 
place  I was  to  leave  at  night  for  Paris.  During  the 
journey,  the  countess  was  affectionately  silent : at 
first  she  declared  she  had  the  migraine  ; then  she 
was  ashamed  of  this  fib  and  suddenly  palliated  it  by 
saying  that  she  could  not  see  me  leave  without 
regret.  The  count  invited  me  to  come  to  his  house, 
whenever,  in  the  absence  of  the  De  Chessels,  I should 
feel  inclined  to  revisit  the  valley  of  the  Indre. 

We  parted  heroically,  without  any  apparent  tears  ; 
but,  like  some  sickly  children,  Jacques  had  an  im- 
pulse of  sensitiveness  which  made  him  shed  a few. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  187 

tears,  whilst  Madeleine,  already  a woman,  squeezed 
her  mother's  hand. 

“Dear  little  one!”  said  the  countess,  kissing 
Jacques  passionately. 

When  I found  myself  alone  in  Tours,  I was  taken 
after  dinner  with  one  of  those  unaccountable  manias 
which  one  experiences  in  early  years  only.  I hired 
a horse  and  in  an  hour  and  a quarter  had  cleared  the 
distance  between  Tours  and  Pont-de-Ruan.  There, 
ashamed  of  exhibiting  my  folly,  I hastened  along  the 
road  on  foot,  and  arrived  like  a spy,  stealthily,  be- 
neath the  terrace.  The  countess  was  not  there,  I 
fancied  she  was  suffering  ; I had  kept  the  key  of 
the  little  door,  I went  in  ; at  that  moment  she  came 
down  the  steps  with  her  two  children,  slow  and  sad, 
to  inhale  the  gentle  melancholy  stamped  upon  this 
landscape  at  sunset. 

“ Mother,  there  is  Felix  ! ” said  Madeleine. 

“Yes,  I,”  I whispered,  “I  asked  myself  why  I 
was  in  Tours,  when  it  was  yet  easy  to  see  you. 
Why  not  carry  out  a desire  which,  in  a week,  I 
shall  no  longer  be  able  to  realize  ? ” 

“He  is  not  leaving  us,  mother ! ” cried  Jacques, 
dancing  round  and  round. 

“ Be  quiet,  do,”  said  Madeleine,  “you  will  bring 
the  general.” 

“ This  is  not  wise,”  murmured  Henriette,  “ what 
folly!” 

This  consonance  expressed  in  tearful  tones  what 
a payment  for  what  one  might  term  the  usurious 
calculations  of  Love ! 


1 88  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

“ I had  forgotten  to  give  you  back  this  key/’  I 
said,  smiling. 

“ But  you  will  not  return  ? ” she  said. 

“ Do  we  ever  leave  each  other  ? ” I asked,  giving 
her  a look  which  made  her  cast  down  her  lids  so  as 
to  veil  her  mute  response. 

I left  after  a few  moments  spent  in  one  of  those  bliss- 
ful stupors  known  to  souls  that  have  reached  the  point 
at  which  exaltation  finishes  and  mad  ecstasy  begins. 
I went  away  slowly,  turning  round  at  every  moment. 
When,  at  the  top  of  the  plateau,  I beheld  the  valley 
for  the  last  time,  I was  struck  by  the  contrast  it  pre- 
sented to  what  it  had  been  when  I came ; was  it  not 
then  as  green  and  glowing  as  my  desires  and  hopes  ? 
Initiated  now  into  the  gloomy  and  mournful  secrets 
of  a family,  sharing  the  agonies  of  a Christian  Niobe, 
sad  like  her,  with  a clouded  soul,  I found  the  valley 
at  this  moment  in  keeping  with  my  ideas.  Now, 
the  fields  were  bare,  the  leaves  of  the  poplars  were 
falling,  and  those  that  remained  wore  the  color  of 
rust ; the  vine-branches  were  burnt,  the  crests  of 
the  woods  exhibited  the  grave  tints  of  that  tan-color 
that  kings  formerly  adopted  for  their  dress  and 
which  hid  the  purple  of  power  beneath  the  brown  of 
the  shagreen.  Ever  in  harmony  with  my  thoughts, 
the  valley,  where  the  yellow  rays  of  a mild  sun 
were  fading,  once  more  called  up  a living  image  of  my 
soul.  To  leave  a beloved  woman  is  either  dreadful 
or  a matter  of  course,  according  to  disposition  ; I 
suddenly  felt  as  if  I were  in  a foreign  land,  the  lan- 
guage of  which  I knew  not ; I knew  not  what  to 


HENRIETTE  TO  FELIX 


During  the  night , I kissed  the.  paper  upon  which 
Henriette  had  set  forth  her  wishes , where  I should 
recover  the  mysterious  exhalations  flowing  from  her 
hand , ivhence  the  accentuations  of  her  voice  should 
penetrate  into  my  concentrated  understanding.  I 
have  never  read  her  letters  but  as  I read  the  first , in 
bed  and  amid  absolute  silence  ; I do  not  know  how 
one  can  otherwise  read  the  letters  written  by  a beloved 


6 • /Iry  fj.  . Jo  ■ J 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  1 89 

cling  to  while  looking  at  things  to  which  I no  longer 
felt  my  soul  to  be  attached.  Then,  the  extent  of 
my  love  unfolded  itself,  and  my  dear  Henriette 
arose  in  all  her  greatness  in  this  desert  in  which  I 
existed  but  by  her  memory.  She  was  a figure  so 
religiously  adored,  that  I resolved  to  stand  without 
stain  in  the  presence  of  my  secret  divinity,  and 
ideally  reclothed  myself  in  the  white  robe  of  the 
Levites,  thus  imitating  Petrarch,  who  never  pre- 
sented himself  before  Laura  de  Noves  but  dressed 
entirely  in  white.  How  impatiently  I looked  for- 
ward to  the  night,  when,  having  returned  to  my 
father's  house,  I should  be  able  to  read  this  letter 
which  I kept  touching  during  the  journey  just  as  a 
miser  feels  a sum  in  banknotes  which  he  is  obliged 
to  carry  about  him.  During  the  night,  I kissed  the 
paper  upon  which  Henriette  had  set  forth  her  wishes, 
where  I should  recover  the  mysterious  exhalations 
flowing  from  her  hand,  whence  the  accentuations  of 
her  voice  should  penetrate  into  my  concentrated  un- 
derstanding. I have  never  read  her  letters  but  as  I 
read  the  first,  in  bed  and  amid  absolute  silence  ; I do 
not  know  how  one  can  otherwise  read  the  letters 
written  by  a beloved  one  ; and  yet,  there  are  men 
unworthy  of  being  loved  who  mingle  the  reading  of 
these  letters  with  the  preoccupations  of  the  day, 
leaving  it  and  resuming  it  with  odious  tranquillity. 
Here,  Natalie,  is  the  lovely  voice  that  suddenly 
echoed  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  here  is  the  sublime 
figure  which  reared  itself  to  point  out  to  me  the  right 
way  in  the  cross-roads  at  which  I had  arrived  : 


190  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

“ What  pleasure,  my  friend,  to  have  to  collect  the 
scattered  elements  of  my  experience  so  as  to  trans- 
mit it  to  you  and  so  arm  you  against  the  dangers  of  the 
world  through  which  you  should  thread  your  way 
skilfully  ! I have  felt  the  delight  lawful  to  maternal 
affection,  in  busying  myself  about  you  for  several 
nights.  While  I was  writing  this,  sentence  by  sen- 
tence, transporting  myself  beforehand  into  the  life 
that  you  are  to  lead,  I went  now  and  again  to  my 
window.  Beholding  from  there  the  moon-lit  towers 
of  Frapesle,  often  1 said  to  myself  : * He  is  asleep, 
and  I watch  over  him  ! ' Delightful  sensations,  which 
reminded  me  of  the  early  joys  of  my  life,  when  I 
used  to  contemplate  Jacques  asleep  in  his  cradle, 
waiting  for  him  to  waken  to  give  him  my  milk.  Are 
you  not  a man-child  whose  soul  needs  recruiting 
with  a few  precepts  with  which  you  have  not 
been  able  to  sustain  yourself  in  those  terrible  col- 
leges where  you  suffered  so  much,  but  which  we 
women  have  the  privilege  of  affording  you  ? These 
trifles  influence  your  successes,  they  pave  the  way 
for  them  and  consolidate  them.  Would  it  not  be  a 
spiritual  maternity,  this  generation  of  a system  to 
which  a man  should  ascribe  the  actions  of  his  life, 
a maternity  thoroughly  understood  by  the  child  ? 
Dear  Felix,  let  me,  even  if  l should  here  commit  a few 
errors,  imprint  upon  our  friendship  the  disinterested- 
ness which  shall  sanctify  it : does  not  surrendering 
you  to  the  world  mean  giving  you  up  ? but  I love 
you  enough  to  sacrifice  my  enjoyment  to  your  great 
future.  For  now  nearly  four  months,  you  have  made 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  191 

me  reflect  not  a little  about  the  laws  and  customs 
which  govern  our  epoch.  The  conversations  that  I 
had  with  my  aunt,  and  the  purport  of  which  con- 
cerns you,  you  who  fill  her  place  ! the  events  of  his 
life  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  related  to  me  ; 
the  words  of  my  father,  to  whom  the  court  was  so 
familiar ; the  most  important  as  well  as  the  most 
trifling  incidents,  all  has  welled  up  within  my  mem- 
ory for  the  benefit  of  my  adopted  child  whom  I see 
about  to  rush  into  the  midst  of  men,  almost  alone  ; 
about  to  go  unwarned  into  a land  where  many  per- 
ish through  careless  use  of  their  good  qualities,  and 
some  succeed  through  the  good  use  of  their  bad  qual- 
ities. 

“ Above  all,  think  over  the  concise  expression  of  my 
opinion  upon  society  considered  as  a whole,  for,  with 
you,  very  few  words  suffice.  I do  not  know  whether 
communities  are  of  divine  origin  or  whether  they  are 
man’s  invention.  I am  likewise  ignorant  of  the 
direction  in  which  they  move  ; what  seems  to  me 
certain  is  their  existence ; from  the  moment  you 
accept  them,  instead  of  living  apart,  you  must  con- 
sider the  constitutive  conditions  as  valid  ; to-morrow 
will  be  signed,  as  it  were,  a contract  between 
you  and  them.  Now-a-days  is  not  a man  rather 
made  use  of  by  society  than  profited  by  it  ? I think 
so ; but  whether  a man  there  finds  more  burdens 
than  privileges,  or  whether  he  pays  too  dearly  for 
the  advantages  that  he  reaps,  are  questions  for  the 
legislator  and  not  for  the  individual.  And  so,  in  my 
opinion,  you  should  obey  the  universal  law  in  all 


192 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


things,  without  disputing  it,  whether  it  injures  or 
favors  your  interests.  However  simple  this  prin- 
ciple may  seem  to  you,  it  is  difficult  in  its  applica- 
tion ; it  is  like  sap  that  has  to  percolate  into  the 
tiniest  capillary  tubes  in  order  to  revive  the  tree,  to 
preserve  its  verdure,  to  develop  its  blossoms  and 
improve  its  fruit  so  magnificently,  that  it  excites 
universal  admiration.  Dear,  laws  are  not  all  written 
in  a book,  customs  too  create  laws,  the  most  import- 
ant being  the  least  known ; there  are  neither  pro- 
fessors, nor  treatises,  nor  colleges  for  that  law  which 
regulates  your  actions,  your  conversation,  your  ex- 
ternal -life,  your  way  of  introducing  yourself  into 
society  or  of  attacking  fortune.  To  transgress  these 
secret  laws  is  to  remain  at  the  bottom  of  the  social 
status  instead  of  dominating  it.  Even  should  this 
letter  express  but  frequent  amplifications  of  your 
own  ideas,  just  let  me  confide  to  you  my  feminine 
policy. 

“ To  explain  society  by  the  theory  of  individual 
success  adroitly  gained  at  the  expense  of  everybody 
else  is  a fatal  doctrine,  the  strict  inferences  of  which 
lead  man  to  believe  that  everything  that  he  secretly 
takes  to  himself,  without  the  law,  the  world  or  the 
individual  discovering  any  wrong,  is  rightly  and  duly 
acquired.  According  to  this  policy,  the  clever  thief 
is  absolved,  the  woman  who  fails  in  her  duty  un- 
known to  anyone,  is  happy  and  good  ; kill  a man  so 
that  justice  should  not  have  a single  proof,  and  if 
you  thus  conquer  some  crown  a la  Macbeth,  you 
have  done  well ; your  interest  becomes  the  supreme 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


193 


law,  the  point  consists  in  circumventing  without 
witnesses  or  proofs,  the  difficulties  that  customs  and 
laws  place  between  you  and  your  gratifications. 
To  anyone  looking  thus  upon  society,  the  problem 
constituted  by  the  making  of  a fortune,  my  friend, 
resolves  itself  into  playing  a game,  the  stakes  of 
which  are  a million  or  the  galleys,  a political  position 
or  disgrace.  Moreover  there  is  not  enough  cloth  in 
the  green  baize  for  all  players,  and  it  needs  a great 
deal  of  genius  to  contrive  a throw.  I am  not  speaking 
to  you  either  of  religious  beliefs  or  sentiments  ; here 
it  is  a question  of  the  wheels  of  a gold  and  iron 
machine,  and  its  direct  results  with  which  mankind 
is  concerned.  Dear  child  of  my  heart,  if  you  share 
my  horror  of  this  criminal  theory,  then  society 
will  only  be  explained  in  your  eyes  as  it  is  explained 
in  all  sound  judgment,  by  the  theory  of  duty.  Yes, 
you  owe  yourselves  to  each  other  in  a thousand 
diverse  ways.  In  my  opinion,  the  duke  and  the 
peer  owe  themselves  far  more  to  the  artisan  or  the 
pauper  than  the  pauper  and  the  artisan  owe  them- 
selves to  the  duke  and  the  peer.  The  obligations 
contracted  augment  in  proportion  to  the  benefits 
society  presents  to  man,  according  to  this  principle, 
true  in  business  as  in  politics,  that  the  weight  of 
cares  is  everywhere  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  the 
advantages.  Each  pays  his  debt  in  his  way.  When 
our  poor  man  of  La  Rhetoriere  comes  to  bed  tired  with 
his  work,  do  you  think  he  has  not  fulfilled  his  duties? 
he  has  assuredly  accomplished  his  better  than  many 
people  in  high  places.  In  thus  weighing  the  society 
13 


194 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


in  which  you  would  desire  a place  in  keeping  with 
your  intelligence  and  faculties,  you  must  lay  down, 
as  an  actuating  principle,  this  maxim  : to  indulge  in 
nothing  that  is  against  one’s  own  conscience  or 
against  the  public  conscience.  Although  my  in- 
sistence may  seem  to  you  superfluous,  I beg  you, 
yes,  your  Henriette  begs  you  to  well  weigh  the 
sense  of  these  few  words.  Apparently  simple, 
they  mean,  dear,  that  uprightness,  honor,  loyalty 
and  politeness  are  the  surest  and  quickest  instru- 
ments of  your  success.  In  this  selfish  world,  a 
great  many  people  will  tell  you  that  one  does  not 
make  one’s  way  by  sentiment,  that  over  deference 
to  moral  considerations  delays  one’s  progress ; you 
will  see  men,  badly  brought  up,  ill-bred  or  incapable 
of  gauging  the  future,  offending  a child,  becoming 
guilty  of  rudeness  to  an  old  woman,  declining  to 
bore  themselves  for  a moment  with  some  good  old 
man,  under  the  pretext  that  they  are  in  no  way  use- 
ful to  them  ; later  on,  you  will  see  those  men  en- 
tangled in  thorns  that  they  will  not  have  blunted, 
and  missing  success  for  a trifle  ; whilst  the  man  who 
is  trained  early  in  this  theory  of  duties  will  never 
encounter  obstacles  ; he  may  attain  it  less  rapidly, 
but  his  prosperity  will  be  solid  and  remain  when  that 
of  others  crumbles  away  ! 

“ When  I tell  you  that  the  application  of  this  doc- 
trine requires,  above  all  else,  the  science  of  manners, 
you  may  perhaps  think  that  my  jurisprudence  tastes 
a little  of  the  court  and  of  the  instructions  I received  in 
the  De  Lenoncourt  household.  Oh,  my  friend  ! I at- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


195 


tach  the  very  greatest  importance  to  this  attainment, 
so  apparently  insignificant.  The  customs  of  good  so- 
ciety are  as  necessary  to  you  as  can  be  the  exten- 
sive and  varied  knowledge  you  possess  ; they  have 
often  supplemented  it : some,  in  reality  ignorant, 
but  gifted  with  natural  intelligence,  and  accustomed 
to  infusing  some  coherency  into  their  ideas,  have  at- 
tained a grandeur  that  eluded  the  grasp  of  persons 
more  worthy.  I have  studied  you  closely,  Felix,  in 
order  to  find  out  whether  your  education,  gotten  in 
common  in  the  colleges,  had  in  any  way  spoiled  you. 
God  alone  knows  with  what  joy  I recognized  that 
you  could  acquire  the  little  that  was  lacking  ! With 
many  persons  brought  up  in  these  traditions,  manners 
are  purely  external ; for  exquisite  politeness,  a good 
style,  come  from  the  heart  and  from  a deep  feeling  of 
personal  dignity,  that  is  why,  in  spite  of  their  edu- 
cation, some  nobles  are  ill-bred,  while  certain  per- 
sons of  bourgeois  extraction  are  naturally  well-bred 
and  only  need  to  take  a few  lessons  in  order,  with- 
out awkward  imitation,  to  acquire  excellent  manners. 
Trust  the  word  of  a poor  woman  who  will  never 
leave  her  valley,  this  noble  tone,  and  gracious  sim- 
plicity with  which  speech,  gesture,  bearing  and  even 
the  home  is  stamped  constitutes,  as  it  were,  a phys- 
ical poetry  of  irresistible  charm  ; judge  of  its  power 
when  it  takes  its  rise  in  the  heart ! Politeness,  dear 
child,  consists  in  appearing  to  forget  one’s  self  for 
others ; with  many  people,  it  is  a social  grimace 
which  belies  itself  the  moment  over-thwarted  self- 
interest  peeps  out,  then  a great  man  becomes  ignoble. 


10  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

But,  and  I want  you  to  be  like  this,  Felix,  true  polite- 
ness implies  a Christian  mind  ; it  is  like  the  flower 
of  charity,  and  consists  in  really  forgetting  one’s 
self.  In  memory  of  Henriette,  do  not  be  a water- 
less spring,  but  show  intelligence  and  style  ! Do 
not  fear  that  you  will  often  be  the  dupe  of  this  social 
virtue,  sooner  or  later  you  will  gather  the  fruit  of  so 
many  seeds  apparently  thrown  to  the  wind.  My 
father  used  to  say  that  one  of  the  most  offensive 
fashions  in  ill-judged  politeness  is  the  abuse  of  prom- 
ises. If  something  that  you  cannot  do  is  asked  of 
you,  refuse  frankly,  giving  no  sort  of  false  hope  ; then 
grant  promptly  that  which  you  wish  to  grant : in 
this  way  you  will  acquire  the  grace  of  refusal  and 
the  grace  of  kindness,  a double  integrity  which  won- 
derfully enhances  a character.  I do  not  know  whether 
one  is  not  more  hated  for  a disappointed  expectation 
than  thanked  for  a favor.  And  above  all,  my 
friend,  for  these  little  things  are  well  within  my 
province,  and  I may  insist  upon  what  I believe  I 
know,  do  not  be  either  confiding,  commonplace,  or 
impulsive,  three  stumbling-blocks  ! Too  great  con- 
fidence diminishes  respect,  the  commonplace  pro- 
cures us  contempt,  and  zeal  makes  us  excellent  sub- 
jects for  imposition.  And  in  the  first  place,  dear 
child,  you  will  not  have  more  than  two  or  three 
friends  in  the  course  of  your  existence,  your  entire 
confidence  belongs  to  them  ; would  it  not  be  be- 
traying them  to  give  it  to  several  ? If  you  mix  more 
intimately  with  some  men  than  with  others,  then  be 
discreet  about  yourself,  always  be  as  reserved  as  if 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


197 


you  might  one  day  have  them  for  competitors,  ad- 
versaries or  enemies ; the  chances  of  life  require  it 
to  be  so.  So  maintain  an  attitude  which  shall  be 
neither  indifferent  nor  enthusiastic,  contrive  to  strike 
that  middle  path  wherein  a man  may  continue 
without  compromising  anything.  Yes,  believe  me, 
the  man  of  honor  is  as  far  from  the  cowardly 
complaisance  of  Philinte  as  the  harsh  virtue  of 
Alceste.  The  spirit  of  the  comic  poet  gleams  in  the 
indication  of  the  just  medium  as  discerned  by  the 
noble  spectators  ; indeed,  all  would  incline  rather 
toward  the  ridiculousness  of  virtue  than  toward 
the  supreme  contempt  hidden  beneath  the  good 
nature  of  egotism  ; but  they  will  know  how  to  keep 
from  both. 

“ As  to  the  commonplace,  if  for  it  you  are  pro- 
nounced by  some  fools  to  be  charming,  people  who 
are  accustomed  to  sounding  and  appraising  human 
capacity  will  infer  your  defect  and  you  will  be 
promptly  discredited,  for  the  commonplace  is  the 
refuge  of  feeble  persons  ; now,  those  who  are  weak 
are  unfortunately  despised  by  a society  that  looks 
upon  each  one  of  its  members  as  an  organ  ; perhaps 
after  all  they  are  right,  nature  condemns  imperfect 
beings  to  death.  And  so  perhaps  the  touching  pro- 
tections on  the  part  of  the  woman  are  engendered 
through  the  pleasure  she  finds  in  struggling  against 
blind  force,  in  making  the  intelligence  of  the  heart 
triumph  over  the  brutality  of  matter.  But  society, 
more  of  a stepmother  than  a mother,  adores  the 
children  who  flatter  its  vanity.  As  to  zeal,  that 


198  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

first  and  sublime  error  of  youth  which  finds  real  en- 
joyment in  exercising  its  powers  and  thus  begins  by 
being  its  own  victim  before  being  that  of  others, 
keep  it  for  your  requited  sentiments,  keep  it  for 
the  wife  and  for  God.  Do  not  bring  into  the  world’s 
bazaar  or  the  speculation  of  politics  those  treasures  in 
exchange  for  which  you  will  be  given  glass  trinkets. 
You  must  trust  the  voice  which  commands  nobility 
in  all  things,  at  a time  when  it  begs  you  not  to  be 
uselessly  lavish  of  yourself;  for,  unhappily,  men 
esteem  you  in  proportion  to  your  utility , without  taking 
your  worth  into  account.  To  employ  an  image  which 
shall  impress  itself  upon  your  poetic  mind,  be  the 
cipher  of  inordinate  size,  traced  in  gold,  or  written 
in  pencil,  it  will  never  be  anything  but  a cipher. 
As  a man  of  the  present  day  has  said  : “ Never 
evince  zeal ! ” Zeal  comes  very  near  gullibility, 
and  causes  disappointments ; you  will  never  find 
above  you  any  fervor  equal  to  your  own  ; kings, 
like  women,  believe  that  everything  is  their  due. 
However  sad  this  principle  may  be,  it  is  true,  but 
never  rob  your  soul  of  its  flowers.  Set  your  pure 
sentiments  on  inaccessible  heights  where  their  blos- 
soms may  be  ardently  admired,  and  where  the  artist 
will  dream  almost  affectionately  of  his  masterpiece. 
Duties,  my  friend,  are  not  sentiments.  To  do  what 
one  ought  is  not  to  do  what  one  pleases.  A man 
should  go  calmly  to  die  for  his  country,  and  may 
joyfully  give  his  life  to  a woman.  One  of  the  most 
important  rules  of  the  science  of  manners  is  an 
almost  absolute  silence  about  yourself.  Amuse 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


199 


yourself  some  day,  by  talking  of  yourself  to  mere 
acquaintances  ; entertain  them  with  your  sufferings, 
your  pleasures  or  your  affairs  ; you  will  see  indiffer- 
ence following  on  pretended  interest ; then,  if  the 
mistress  of  the  house  does  not  politely  interrupt  you, 
each  one,  bored,  will  move  off  with  skilfully  devised 
excuses.  But  should  you  wish  to  gather  all  their 
sympathies,  and  pass  for  an  amiable,  sensible  man, 
to  be  relied  on  ; talk  to  them  about  themselves, 
find  means  of  bringing  them  forward,  even  by 
raising  questions  apparently  irreconcilable  with  the 
individuals ; faces  will  become  animated,  lips  will 
smile  upon  you,  and  when  you  are  gone,  everyone 
will  praise  you.  Your  conscience  and  the  heart’s 
voice  will  tell  you  the  limit  at  which  the  cowardice 
of  flattery  begins,  and  the  grace  of  conversation 
ends. 

“ Yet  another  word  about  talking  in  public.  My 
friend,  youth  is  always  prone  to  1 know  not  what 
hastiness  of  judgment  which  is  to  its  credit,  but 
which  is  harmful  to  it ; hence  the  silence  formerly 
imposed  in  the  education  of  young  people  who  used 
to  go  through  a course  with  the  seniors,  during 
which  they  studied  life  ; for,  formerly  Nobility,  like 
Art,  had  its  apprentices  and  its  pages  devoted  to 
the  masters  who  nurtured  them.  Now-a-days, 
youth  possesses  a hothouse  and,  therefore,  acid 
knowledge,  which  disposes  it  to  be  severe  in  judging 
actions,  thoughts  and  writings ; it  cuts  with  the 
edge  of  a hitherto  untried  blade.  Do  not  have  this 
bad  habit.  Your  decisions  would  be  censures  which 


200 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


would  wound  many  persons  around  you,  and  all 
would  perhaps  be  less  inclined  to  forgive  a secret 
injury  than  any  offence  you  might  give  publicly. 
Young  people  are  merciless,  because  they  know 
nothing  of  life  or  its  troubles.  The  old  critic  is  kind 
and  gentle,  the  young  critic  is  implacable  ; the  latter 
knows  nothing,  the  former  everything.  Moreover, 
at  the  bottom  of  all  human  actions  is  a labyrinth  of 
determinative  motives,  the  definitive  judgment  of 
which  God  has  reserved  to  Himself.  Be  severe  only 
to  yourself.  Your  fortune  is  before  you,  but  no- 
body in  this  world  can  make  his  fortune  unaided  ; 
so  frequent  my  father’s  house,  your  entry  is  se- 
cured, the  intimacies  you  will  there  form  will  be  of 
use  to  you  on  a thousand  occasions  ; but  do  not 
yield  an  inch  of  ground  to  my  mother,  she  crushes 
him  who  gives  way,  and  admires  the  pride  of  him 
who  resists  her ; she  is  like  iron,  which,  beaten, 
may  be  joined  to  iron,  but  which  by  its  contact, 
destroys  all  that  has  not  its  own  hardness.  So  cul- 
tivate my  mother ; if  she  wishes  you  well,  she  will 
introduce  you  into  the  salons,  where  you  will  ac- 
quire that  fatal  science  of  the  world,  the  art  of 
listening,  speaking,  replying,  presenting  yourself 
and  leaving ; the  exact  language,  an  indescriba- 
ble something  which  is  not  superiority  just  as 
dress  is  not  genius,  but  without  which  the  greatest 
talent  will  never  be  admitted.  1 know  you  well 
enough  to  be  sure  that  I am  in  no  way  deluding 
myself  in  seeing  you  beforehand  as  I wish  you  to 
be ; simple  in  manner,  gentle  in  tone,  proud  with- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


201 


out  conceit,  respectful  with  old  people,  attentive 
without  servility,  and  above  all,  discreet. 

“ Display  your  wit,  but  do  not  serve  as  an  amuse- 
ment to  others  ; for  be  well  assured  that,  if  your/ 
superiority  ruffles  a man  of  mediocrity,  he  will  hold 
his  tongue  and  then  say  of  you  : “ He  is  very  fun- 
ny ! ” a term  of  contempt.  Let  your  superiority 
always  be  leonine.  Moreover,  do  not  try  to  please 
men.  In  your  relations  with  them,  I advise  a cool- 
ness which  may  even  border  on  an  impertinence 
which  they  cannot  resent ; everyone  respects  him 
who  disdains  them,  and  this  disdain  will  win  you  the 
favor  of  all  the  women,  who  will  esteem  you  in  pro- 
portion to  the  small  heed  you  take  of  men.  Never 
allow  disreputable  people  near  you,  even  if  they 
should  not  deserve  their  reputation,  for  the  world 
demands  an  account  both  of  our  friendships  and 
aversions ; in  this  respect,  let  your  judgments  be 
long  and  seriously  weighed,  but  let  them  be  irrevo- 
cable. When  the  men  repelled  by  you  shall  have 
justified  your  repulsion,  your  esteem  will  be  sought 
after ; and  thus  you  will  inspire  that  tacit  respect 
which  magnifies  a man  amongst  men.  And  now 
you  are  armed  with  the  youth  that  pleases,  the 
grace  that  fascinates,  and  the  wisdom  that  guards 
conquests.  All  that  1 have  just  said  to  you  may  be 
summed  up  in  an  old  saying  : Noblesse  oblige  ! 

“Now,  apply  these  precepts  to  the  policy  of  busi- 
ness. You  will  hear  many  persons  saying  that 
shrewdness  is  the  essence  of  success,  that  the  way 
to  cut  through  the  crowd  is  to  separate  men  so  as  to 


202 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


have  way  made  for  one.  My  friend,  these  principles 
were  all  very  well  in  the  Middle  Ages,  when  princes 
had  rival  forces  with  which  to  destroy  one  another ; 
but,  now-a-days,  all  is  open,  and  this  system  will 
render  you  very  poor  service.  Indeed,  you  will  meet 
with,  say  a loyal,  sincere  man,  or  a treacherous 
enemy,  a man  who  makes  use  of  calumny,  back- 
biting, and  fraud.  Well,  be  sure  you  have  no  more 
powerful  auxiliary  than  this,  this  man  is  his  own 
enemy  ; you  can  fight  him  with  legitimate  weapons, 
sooner  or  later  he  will  be  despised.  As  to  the  first, 
your  frankness  will  win  you  his  esteem  ; and  your  in- 
terests'gained — for  all  adjusts  itself — he  will  assist 
you.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  making  enemies,  woe  to 
him  who  has  none  in  the  world  which  you  are  en- 
tering; but  try  to  give  no  handle  either  to  ridicule 
or  discredit ; I say  try,  because,  in  Paris,  a man  is 
not  always  his  own  master,  and  is  open  to  unfor- 
tunate circumstances  ; you  can  avoid  neither  the 
mud  in  the  gutter  nor  the  tile  that  falls.  Morality 
has  its  gutters  from  which  dishonored  people  try 
to  splash  the  most  exalted  persons  with  the  mud  in 
which  they  are  sunken.  But  you  can  always  make 
yourself  respected  by  proving  yourself,  in  all  spheres, 
to  be  implacable  in  your  final  determinations.  In 
this  conflict  of  ambitions,  amid  these  perplexing 
difficulties,  always  go  straight  to  the  truth,  drive 
resolutely  to  the  point,  and  never  fight  except  upon 
one  condition,  with  all  your  might.  You  know  how 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  hated  Napoleon,  he  pursued 
him  with  curses,  he  watched  over  him  like  justice 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  203 

over  a criminal,  every  night  he  asked  him  for  the 
Due  d’Enghien,  the  only  misfortune,  the  only  death 
which  made  him  shed  tears ; well,  he  admired  him 
as  the  boldest  of  captains,  he  has  often  explained  to 
me  his  tactics.  This  strategy  might  therefore  be 
applied  in  the  war  of  interests  ; it  would  economize 
time,  as  the  other  economized  men  and  space ; 
think  this  over,  for  a woman  often  makes  mis- 
takes in  things  that  we  judge  by  instinct  and 
feeling.  I may  dwell  upon  one  point ; all  cunning, 
all  deceit  is  discovered  and  ends  in  destruction, 
whilst  every  situation  seems  to  me  less  dangerous 
when  a man  takes  his  place  on  the  ground  of  sincerity. 
If  I might  quote  my  own  instance,  I would  tell  you 
that  at  Clochegourde,  forced  by  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf's  character  to  prevent  all  litigation,  to  im- 
mediately arbitrate  all  disputes  which  to  him  would 
be  like  an  illness  in  which  he  would  delight  while 
being  worsted,  I myself  have  always  put  an  end  to 
it  all  by  going  straight  to  the  difficulty  and  saying 
to  the  adversary  : ‘ Let  us  arrange  it,  or  finish  it ! * 
“ You  may  often  chance  to  be  of  use  to  others,  to 
do  them  some  service,  and  you  will  be  but  scantily 
rewarded  ; but  do  not  imitate  those  who  complain  of 
men  and  boast  that  they  have  never  met  any  who 
are  not  ungrateful.  Is  not  that  setting  one's  self 
upon  a pedestal  ? then  is  it  not  a little  foolish  to 
confess  one's  want  of  knowledge  of  the  world  ? And 
would  you  do  good  as  a usurer  lends  his  money  ? 
Would  you  not  do  it  for  the  sake  of  good  itself  ? 
Noblesse  oblige ! Nevertheless,  do  not  render  such 


204  THE  lily  of  the  valley 

services,  that  you  compel  people  to  ingratitude, 
for  those  will  become  your  most  irreconcilable 
enemies ; there  is  the  despair  of  obligation, 
like  the  despair  of  ruin,  which  lends  incalculable 
strength.  As  to  yourself,  accept  as  little  as  you 
can  from  others.  Do  not  be  the  vassal  of  any  one, 
hold  nothing  but  of  yourself.  I am  only  giving  you 
advice,  my  friend,  about  the  little  things  of  life.  In 
the  political  world,  all  points  of  view  are  changed, 
the  rules  which  govern  your  person  yield  to  greater 
interests.  But,  if  you  should  attain  the  sphere  in 
which  great  men  stir,  you  will,  like  God,  be  the  sole 
judge  of  your  resolutions.  You  will  then  be  no 
longer  a man,  you  will  be  the  living  law ; you  will 
be  no  more  an  individual,  you  will  have  embodied 
the  nation.  But,  if  you  judge,  you  will  also  be 
judged.  Later  on,  you  will  appear  in  the  presence 
of  centuries,  and  you  know  enough  of  history,  to 
have  appreciated  the  feelings  and  actions  which 
beget  true  greatness. 

“ I come  now  to  a serious  question,  your  conduct 
toward  women.  In  the  salons  where  you  go,  keep 
to  the  principle  of  not  making  yourself  cheap  by 
indulging  in  the  petty  intrigues  of  coquetry.  One 
of  the  men,  who,  in  another  age,  had  the  greatest 
success,  was  in  the  habit  of  never  paying  attention  to 
but  one  person  in  an  evening,  and  of  attaching  him- 
self to  those  who  appeared  to  be  neglected.  That 
man,  dear  child,  has  dominated  his  period.  He  had 
wisely  calculated  that,  in  a given  time,  everybody 
would  persist  in  praising  him.  Most  young  men  lose 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


205 


their  most  valuable  chance,  the  time  necessary  for 
creating  acquaintances,  which  are  half  of  social  life  ; 
as  they  please  in  themselves,  they  have  but  little  to 
do  to  gain  interest ; but  this  springtime  is  fleeting, 
learn  to  make  good  use  of  it.  Therefore  cultivate 
influential  women.  The  women  of  influence  are  the 
old  women  ; they  will  teach  you  the  connections, 
the  secrets  of  all  families,  and  the  short-cuts  which 
will  lead  you  quickly  to  the  goal.  They  will  gladly 
help  you  ; patronage  is  their  last  love,  when  they  are 
not  devotees  ; they  will  be  of  wonderful  use  to  you, 
they  will  extol  you  and  make  you  desirable.  Avoid 
the  young  women  ! Do  not  imagine  that  there  is  the 
least  personal  motive  in  what  I say.  The  woman 
of  fifty  will  do  everything  for  you,  the  woman  of 
twenty  nothing ; this  one  will  demand  your  whole 
life,  the  other  but  a moment,  an  attention.  Laugh 
at  the  young  women,  take  them  all  as  a joke,  they 
are  incapable  of  a serious  thought.  The  young 
women,  my  friend,  are  selfish,  petty,  without 
genuine  kindness,  they  love  only  themselves,  they 
would  sacrifice  you  to  a success.  Besides,  they  all 
want  devotion,  and  your  situation  requires  that  some 
should  be  shown  to  you,  two  irreconcilable  claims. 
Not  one  of  them  will  understand  your  interests,  all 
will  think  of  themselves  and  not  of  you,  all  will 
rather  ruin  you  through  their  vanity  than  be  of  use 
to  you  through  their  attachment ; they  will  devour 
your  time  without  scruple,  will  cause  your  success  to 
fail,  and  will  destroy  you  with  the  best  grace  in  the 
world.  If  you  complain,  the  silliest  among  them 


206 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


will  prove  to  you  that  her  glove  is  worth  all  the 
world,  that  nothing  can  be  more  glorious  than  to 
wait  upon  her.  They  will  all  tell  you  that  they 
bring  good  luck  and  will  make  you  forget  your  great 
career ; their  fortune  is  changeable,  your  greatness 
is  certain.  You  do  not  know  with  what  perfidious 
art  they  set  about  satisfying  their  caprices,  so  as  to 
convert  a passing  liking  into  a love  which  begins 
upon  earth  and  ought  to  continue  in  Heaven.  The 
day  they  leave  you,  they  will  tell  you  that  the  words 
I no  longer  love  you  justify  desertion — just  as  the  word 
/ love  excused  their  love, — and  that  love  is  involun- 
tary. An  absurd  doctrine,  dear  one  ! Believe  me, 
true  love  is  eternal,  infinite,  always  alike  ; it  is  even 
and  pure,  without  violent  demonstrations  ; it  is  to  be 
seen  with  white  hair,  still  young  in  heart.  None  of 
these  things  are  to  be  found  among  worldly  women, 
they  all  dissemble.  This  one  will  interest  you  in  her 
misfortunes,  she  will  appear  the  gentlest  and  least 
exacting  of  women  ; but,  when  she  has  rendered 
herself  necessary,  she  will  slowly  domineer  over  you 
and  will  make  you  do  her  will ; would  you  like  to  be 
a diplomatist,  go  and  come,  study  men,  interests, 
and  countries  ? No,  you  must  stay  either  in  Paris  or 
at  her  estate,  she  will  slyly  tack  you  to  her  skirts ; 
and  the  more  devotion  you  show  the  more  ungrate 
ful  she  will  be.  The  other  one  will  attempt  to  in- 
terest you  by  her  compliance,  she  will  become  your 
page,  she  will  follow  you  romantically  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth,  she  will  compromise  herself  to  keep  you 
and  will  be  a stone  round  your  neck.  You  will  one 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  20 7 

day  be  wrecked  and  the  woman  will  survive.  The 
least  subtle  of  women  has  innumerable  snares  ; the 
most  imbecile  triumphs  because  of  the  little  suspicion 
she  excites  ; the  least  dangerous  would  be  a courte- 
san who  would  love  you  without  knowing  why,  who 
would  leave  you  without  reason,  and  recapture  you 
through  vanity.  But  they  will  all  ruin  you  now  or 
in  the  future.  Every  young  woman  who  goes  into 
the  world,  who  lives  upon  pleasure  and  vain  grati- 
fications, is  a half  corrupt  woman  who  will  corrupt 
you.  Of  such  is  not  the  modest,  quiet  woman 
in  whose  heart  you  will  always  reign.  Ah  ! she 
will  be  solitary,  the  woman  who  is  to  love  you  : her 
greatest  feasts  will  be  your  looks,  she  will  live  upon 
your  words.  Then  let  this  woman  be  the  whole 
world  to  you,  for  you  will  be  everything  to  her : 
love  her  well,  give  her  neither  sorrows  nor  rivals, 
do  not  excite  her  jealousy.  To  be  loved,  dear,  to 
be  understood,  is  the  very  greatest  happiness,  I hope 
that  you  may  taste  it,  but  do  not  imperil  the  flower 
of  your  soul,  be  very  sure  of  the  heart  in  which  you 
place  your  affections.  This  woman  will  never  be 
herself,  she  should  never  think  of  herself,  but  of  you  ; 
she  will  deny  you  nothing,  she  will  never  attend  to 
her  own  interests  and  will  know  how  to  scent  dan- 
ger for  you  where  you  see  none,  where  she  will  forget 
herself  ; finally,  if  she  suffer,  she  will  suffer  without 
complaint,  she  will  have  no  sort  of  personal  coquetry, 
but  she  will,  as  it  were,  respect  that  which  you  love 
in  her.  Return  this  love  by  surpassing  it.  If  you 
are  fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  what  will  always 


208 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


be  lacking  to  your  poor  friend,  a love  that  is  equally 
inspired,  equally  felt,  remember,  whatever  the  per- 
fection of  this  love,  that  in  a valley  there  will  exist 
for  you  a mother  whose  heart  is  so  deepened  by  the 
feeling  with  which  you  have  filled  it,  that  you  never 
could  find  the  bottom.  Yes,  I bear  you  an  affection 
the  extent  of  which  you  will  never  know ; for  it  to 
show  itself  as  it  is,  you  would  have  to  lose  that 
great  intelligence,  and  then  you  would  never  know 
how  far  my  devotion  could  go.  Am  I suspicious  in 
telling  you  to  avoid  the  young  women,  all  more  or 
less  artificial,  scornful,  vain,  frivolous,  extravagant ; 
to  attach  yourself  to  the  influential  women,  those 
imposing  dowagers,  full  of  sense,  as  was  my  aunt, 
who  will  serve  you  so  well,  who  will  defend 
you  against  secret  accusations  by  destroying  them, 
who  will  say  of  you  what  you  could  never  say  your- 
self ? After  all,  am  I not  generous  in  ordering  you 
to  reserve  your  adoration  for  the  pure-hearted  angel? 
If  this  saying  : Noblesse  oblige , includes  a great  part 
of  my  first  recommendations,  my  advice  upon  your 
relations  with  women  is  also  in  this  motto  of  chiv- 
alry : Serve  them  all,  and  love  but  one . 

“ Your  knowledge  is  vast ; your  heart,  preserved 
by  suffering,  has  remained  without  stain ; all  is 
beautiful,  all  is  good  in  you,  then  be  determined! 
Your  future  now  lies  in  that  single  word,  the  word 
of  great  men.  Will  you  not,  dear  child,  obey  your 
Henriette,  and  let  her  continue  to  tell  you  what  she 
thinks  of  you  and  your  relations  with  the  world  ? 
In  my  soul  I have  an  eye  which  sees  the  future  for 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  209 

you  as  for  my  children,  then  let  me  use  this  faculty 
for  your  advantage,  this  mysterious  gift  which  has 
made  the  peace  of  my  life  and  which,  far  from  decay- 
ing, maintains  itself  in  solitude  and  silence.  In  re- 
turn I ask  you  to  give  me  a great  happiness  : I want  to 
see  you  growing  among  men,  without  a single  one 
of  your  successes  bringing  a wrinkle  to  my  brow  ; I 
want  you  to  speedily  place  your  fortune  on  a level 
with  your  name,  and  to  be  able  to  tell  me  that  I have 
helped  your  greatness  in  a better  way  than  through 
desire.  This  secret  co-operation  is  the  only  pleas- 
ured can  permit  myself.  I will  wait.  1 do  not  say 
good-bye.  We  are  apart,  you  cannot  hold  my  hand 
to  your  lips,  but  you  must  surely  have  seen  what 
place  you  occupy  in  the  heart  of 

“ Your  HENRIETTE.” 

When  I had  finished  this  letter,  I felt  a maternal 
heart  palpitating  beneath  my  hand  at  a moment 
when  I was  yet  chilled  by  my  mother's  stern  wel- 
come. I guessed  why  the  countess  had  forbidden 
my  reading  this  letter  in  Touraine,  no  doubt  she  was 
afraid  to  see  me  falling  at  her  feet  and  to  feel  them 
wet  with  my  tears. 


At  last  1 made  the  acquaintance  of  my  brother 
Charles,  who  until  then  had  been  like  a stranger  to 
me  ; but  in  his  slightest  relations  there  was  a haughti- 
ness which  placed  too  great  a distance  between 
us  for  us  to  love  each  other  as  brothers  ; all  tender 
feelings  depend  upon  equanimity,  and  between  us 
there  was  not  a single  point  of  cohesion.  He  in- 
formed me  authoritatively  of  those  trifles  which  the 
intelligence  or  the  heart  divines ; at  every  turn,  he 
seemed  to  mistrust  me  ; had  I not  had  my  love  as  a 
support,  he  would  have  made  me  awkward  and 
stupid  by  pretending  to  believe  that  I knew  nothing. 
Nevertheless,  he  introduced  me  into  society,  where 
my  simplicity  was  to  set  off  his  accomplishments. 
But  for  the  miseries  of  my  childhood,  I should  have 
mistaken  his  vanity  as  a patron  for  brotherly  affec- 
tion ; but  moral  solitude  produces  the  same  effects 
as  earthly  solitude  ; the  silence  enables  one  to  deter- 
mine the  slightest  sounds,  and  the  habit  of  taking 
refuge  in  one’s  self  develops  a sensitiveness,  the  del- 
icacy of  which  reveals  the  least  distinctions  in  the 
affections  which  concern  us.  Before  having  known 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  a hard  look  would  wound  me, 
(211) 


212 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  sound  of  a sharp  word  would  strike  me  to  the 
heart ; I grieved  about  it,  but  without  knowing  any- 
thing of  the  character  of  endearments ; whereas 
upon  my  return  from  Clochegourde  I could  draw 
comparisons  which  brought  my  premature  science  to 
perfection.  The  observation  which  rests  upon  the 
experience  of  suffering  is  incomplete.  Happiness 
too  has  its  enlightenment.  I allowed  myself  all  the 
more  willingly  to  be  crushed  beneath  the  right  of 
seniority,  because  I was  not  Charles’s  dupe. 

I went  alone  to  visit  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt, 
where  I heard  no  mention  of  Henriette,  where  nobody, 
except  the  good  old  duke,  who  was  simplicity  itself, 
spoke  of  her  to  me  ; but,  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  received  me,  I divined  his  daughter’s  secret  rec- 
ommendations. Just  as  I was  beginning  to  lose  the 
foolish  astonishment  that  every  debutant  feels  at 
sight  of  the  fashionable  world,  just  as  I was  catching 
a glimpse  of  the  pleasures  while  understanding  the 
resources  it  offers  to  ambition,  and  as  I was  amusing 
myself  by  putting  Henriette’s  maxims  into  practice 
while  admiring  their  profound  truth,  the  events  of 
March  20th  befell.  My  brother  followed  the  court 
to  Ghent ; as  for  me,  by  advice  of  the  countess, 
with  whom  I was  holding  a correspondence,  active 
on  my  side  alone,  I accompanied  thither  the  Due  de 
Lenoncourt.  The  usual  kindliness  of  the  duke  grew 
into  sincere  interest  when  he  saw  me  devoted,  heart, 
head  and  foot,  to  the  Bourbons  ; he  himself  presented 
me  to  his  Majesty.  The  courtiers  of  misfortune  are 
few  in  number ; youth  has  naive  admirations,  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


213 


unselfish  allegiances  ; the  king  knew  how  to  judge 
men  ; so  what  would  not  have  been  noticed  at  the 
Tuileries  was  much  remarked  at  Ghent,  and  I had 
the  good  fortune  to  please  Louis  XVIII.  A letter 
from  Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  her  father,  brought 
with  despatches  by  an  emissary  of  the  Vendeans 
and  in  which  there  was  a word  for  me,  informed  me 
that  Jacques  was  ill.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  as 
much  in  despair  at  his  son’s  ill-health  as  at  seeing  a 
second  emigration  begun  without  him,  had  added  a 
few  words  which  led  me  to  conjecture  the  situation 
of  the  beloved.  No  doubt  tormented  by  him  when 
she  spent  all  her  time  at  Jacques’s  bedside,  without 
rest  by  day  or  night ; superior  to  worries,  but  un- 
able to  overcome  them  when  she  was  devoting  her 
whole  mind  to  nursing  her  child,  Henriette  must  be 
longing  for  the  help  of  an  affection  which  had  made 
her  life  less  burdensome,  were  it  only  employed  in 
amusing  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf.  Several  times  al- 
ready, I had  taken  the  count  out-of-doors  when  he 
threatened  to  worry  her ; an  innocent  stratagem,  the 
success  of  which  had  won  me  some  of  those  looks  that 
express  a passionate  gratitude  in  which  love  sees  pro- 
mises. Although  I was  impatient  to  follow  in  Charles’s 
footsteps,  he  had  recently  been  sent  to  the  Congress  of 
Vienna,  although  I was  longing,  at  the  risk  of  my  life, 
to  justify  Henriette’s  predictions  and  to  rid  myself  of 
the  fraternal  vassalage,  my  ambition,  my  desires  for 
independence,  the  advantage  it  was  to  me  not  to 
leave  the  king,  all  paled  before  the  painful  figure  of 
Madame  de  Mortsauf ; I resolved  to  leave  the  Court 


214 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


of  Ghent  to  go  and  serve  the  real  sovereign.  God 
rewarded  me.  The  emissary  sent  by  the  Vendeans 
could  not  return  to  France,  and  the  king  wanted  a 
man  who  would  devote  himself  to  carrying  his  in- 
structions there.  The  Due  de  Lenoncourt  knew  that 
the  king  would  never  forget  him  who  should  under- 
take this  perilous  enterprise  : he  made  me  consent 
without  consulting  me,  and  I accepted,  very  delighted 
at  being  able  to  return  to  Clochegourde  while  at  the 
same  time  serving  the  good  cause. 

After  having  had  at  twenty-one  years  old,  an 
audience  of  the  king,  I returned  to  France,  where, 
whether  in  Paris,  or  in  Vendee,  I was  fortunate  enough 
to  carry  out  his  Majesty’s  purposes.  Towards  the 
end  of  May,  pursued  by  the  Bonapartist  authorities,  to 
whom  I had  been  described,  I was  forced  to  fly  as  a 
man  who  seemed  to  be  returning  to  his  home,  going 
on  foot  from  province  to  province,  from  forest  to 
forest,  across  the  upper  Vendee,  Le  Bocage  and 
Poitou,  altering  my  route  according  to  emergency. 
I reached  Saumur,  from  Saumur  1 went  to  Chinon, 
and  from  Chinon  in  a single  night,  I got  to  the  forest 
of  Nueil,  where  I met  the  count  on  horseback  on  a 
moor ; he  helped  me  up  behind,  and  took  me  home 
without  our  having  seen  anybody  who  could  recognize 
me. 

“ Jacques  is  better ! ” was  his  first  remark. 

I confessed  to  him  my  position  as  a diplomatic 
foot  soldier  tracked  like  a wild  beast,  and  the  noble- 
man summoned  up  all  his  royalism  so  as  to  dispute 
with  Monsieur  de  Chessel  the  danger  of  receiving 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


215 


me.  At  sight  of  Clochegourde,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  eight  months  which  had  just  elapsed  had  been  a 
dream.  When  the  count  said  to  his  wife  as  he  pre- 
ceded me  : 

“ Guess  whom  I am  bringing  ? — F£lix.” 

“ Is  it  possible  ? ” she  asked,  her  arms  dropping 
and  her  face  expressive  of  stupefication. 

I showed  myself,  we  both  remained  motionless, 
she  nailed  to  her  armchair,  I to  the  threshold  of 
her  door,  gazing  at  each  other  with  the  eager 
fixity  of  two  lovers  who  try  to  make  up  for  lost  time 
with  a single  look ; but,  ashamed  of  a surprise 
which  unveiled  her  heart,  she  got  up,  and  I drew 
near. 

“ I have  prayed  much  for  you,”  she  said,  after 
having  stretched  out  her  hand  for  me  to  kiss. 

She  asked  me  for  news  of  her  father ; then  she 
guessed  my  fatigue,  and  went  to  busy  herself 
about  my  bed,  whilst  the  count  ordered  me 
something  to  eat,  for  I was  dying  of  hunger.  My 
room  was  the  one  over  hers,  that  of  her  aunt ; she 
made  the  count  conduct  me  to  it,  after  having  put 
her  foot  on  the  first  step,  no  doubt  deliberating  with 
herself  whether  she  should  accompany  me  ; I turned 
round,  she  blushed,  wished  me  a good  sleep  and 
hastily  retired.  When  I came  down  for  dinner,  I 
was  told  of  the  disasters  of  Waterloo,  Napoleon’s 
flight,  the  march  of  the  allies  upon  Paris  and  the 
probable  return  of  the  Bourbons.  These  events 
were  everything  to  the  count,  to  us  they  were 
nothing.  Do  you  know  what  was  the  greatest  news, 


2l6 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


after  the  children  had  been  petted  ? for  I do  not 
speak  to  you  of  my  alarm  at  seeing  the  countess  so 
pale  and  thin  ; I knew  the  harm  that  might  be  done 
by  a gesture  of  astonishment,  and  expressed  nothing 
but  pleasure  at  seeing  her.  The  great  news  for  us 
was  : “ You  will  have  some  ice  ! ” She  had  often 

been  vexed  the  year  before  at  not  having  cool  enough 
water  for  me,  who,  drinking  nothing  else,  liked  it 
iced.  God  knows  at  the  cost  of  what  importunities 
she  had  had  a refrigerator  constructed  ! You  know 
better  than  anybody  that  love  is  satisfied  with  a 
word,  a look,  an  inflexion  of  the  voice,  an  apparently 
slight  attention  ; its  greatest  privilege  is  to  prove  itself 
by  itself.  Well,  her  words,  her  look,  her  pleasure 
betrayed  to  me  the  extent  of  her  feelings,  just 
as  I used  formerly  to  tell  her  all  mine  by  my  be- 
havior at  backgammon.  But  the  na'ive  evidences 
of  her  tenderness  abounded  ; the  seventh  day  after 
my  arrival,  she  became  blooming  again  ; she  sparkled 
with  health,  joy,  and  youth  ; I again  found  my  dear 
lily  more  beautiful,  more  expanded,  just  as  I found  my 
heart’s  treasures  increased.  Is  it  not  with  only  small 
minds,  or  with  trivial  hearts  that  absence  lessens  the 
feelings,  effaces  the  lineaments  of  the  soul,  and 
diminishes  the  beauties  of  the  loved  one?  Upon 
ardent  imaginations,  upon  those  beings  in  whose 
blood  enthusiasm  runs,  a fresh  purple  color,  and  in 
whom  passion  takes  the  shape  of  constancy,  does 
not  absence  have  the  same  effect  as  the  tortures 
which  used  to  strengthen  the  faiths  of  the  early 
Christians  and  enabled  them  to  see  God  ? In  a heart 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


217 


full  of  love,  are  there  not  incessant  longings  which 
impart  greater  value  to  the  desired  forms  by  causing 
them  to  appear  tinged  by  the  ardor  of  fancy?  Does 
one  not  experience  an  irritation  which  communicates 
the  beauty  of  the  ideal  to  the  adored  features  by  in- 
scribing them  with  thoughts?  , The  past,  revived 
memory  by  memory,  becomes  magnified  ; the  future 
is  stored  with  hope.  Between  two  hearts  surcharged 
with  these  electric  clouds,  a first  interview  then  be- 
comes a beneficial  storm  which  refreshes  the  earth 
and  fertilizes  it  by  striking  it  with  the  sudden  flashes 
of  lightning.  What  sweet  pleasure  did  I not  enjoy 
in  seeing  that  with  us  these  thoughts  and  feelings 
were  mutual?  With  what  a delighted  eye  I followed 
the  progress  of  happiness  in  Henriette  ! A woman 
who  revives  under  the  gaze  of  the  beloved  gives  per- 
haps a greater  proof  of  feeling  than  the  one  who 
dies,  killed  by  a doubt,  or  withered  on  her  stem  for 
want  of  sap  ; I do  not  know  which  of  the  two  is  the 
more  pathetic.  The  revival  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
was  natural,  like  the  effects  of  the  month  of  May 
upon  the  fields,  like  those  of  the  sun  and  the  rain 
upon  the  drooping  flowers.  Like  our  valley  of  love, 
Henriette  had  had  her  winter,  and  was  coming  to 
life  again  as  it  did  in  the  spring.  Before  dinner  we 
went  down  to  our  dear  terrace.  There,  whilst 
stroking  the  head  of  her  poor  child,  grown  more 
feeble  that  I had  ever  seen  him,  walking  beside  his 
mother  as  silent  as  if  brooding  over  some  fresh  ill- 
ness, she  told  me  about  the  nights  spent  at  the  sick 
child’s  bedside. — During  those  three  months,  she  had, 


21 8 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


she  said,  subsisted  upon  an  entirely  inward  life ; she 
had  inhabited,  as  it  were,  a gloomy  palace  fearing  to 
enter  the  sumptuous  apartments  where  the  lights 
were  shining  and  where  feasts,  forbidden  to  her, 
were  being  given,  and  outside  which  she  stood,  one 
eye  on  her  child,  the  other  on  a dim  figure,  one  ear 
for  pain,  the  other  listening  for  a voice.  She 
used  to  repeat  poems  suggested  by  solitude,  poems 
such  as  no  poet  has  ever  invented ; but  all  this 
innocently,  without  being  aware  of  the  least  vestige 
of  love,  or  trace  of  voluptuous  thought,  or  poetry 
of  Eastern  suavity,  like  a rose  of  Frangistan. 
When  the  count  rejoined  us,  she  continued  in  the 
same  strain,  like  a self-confident  woman,  who  can 
look  proudly  at  her  husband  and  kiss  her  son’s  fore- 
head without  a blush.  She  had  prayed  a great  deal 
she  said,  and  had  held  Jacques  up  during  whole 
nights  on  her  clasped  hands,  unwilling  that  he  should 
die. 

“I  went,”  she  said,  “to  the  very  gates  of  the 
sanctuary  to  beg  his  life  of  God.” 

She  had  had  visions  ; she  was  relating  them  to 
me  ; but,  just  as  she  was  pronouncing  these  won- 
derful words  in  her  angel  voice  : 

“ When  I was  asleep,  my  heart  was  watching  ! ” 
the  count,  in  terrupting  her,  replied  : 

“ That  is  to  say  you  were  almost  crazy.” 

She  held  her  peace,  suffering  intense  pain,  as  if  it 
were  the  first  wound  inflicted,  as  if  she  had  forgot- 
ten that,  for  thirteen  years,  this  man  had  never 
failed  to  pierce  her  heart.  Like  a sublime  bird  at- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  2 19 

rested  in  its  flight  by  a coarse  leaden  ball,  she  sank 
into  dull  dejection. 

“ What!  monsieur,  ” she  said  after  a pause,  “ are 
none  of  my  words  ever  to  find  mercy  at  the  tribunal 
of  your  wit  ? Will  you  never  show  any  indulgence 
for  my  weakness,  or  comprehension  of  my  feminine 
ideas  ? ” 

She  checked  herself.  This  angel  was  already  re- 
penting of  her  complaints,  and  at  a glance  measur- 
ing her  past  as  her  future  : could  she  be  understood? 
would  she  not  be  calling  forth  a virulent  outburst  ? 
Her  blue  veins  were  throbbing  violently  in  her 
temples,  she  shed  no  tears,  but  the  green  of  her  eye 
became  dim ; then  she  bent  her  gaze  upon  the 
ground  so  as  not  to  read  in  mine  her  same  pain 
magnified,  her  feelings  divined,  her  soul  caressed  by 
my  soul,  and  above  all,  the  infuriated  sympathy  of  a 
youthful  love  ready,  like  a faithful  dog,  to  devour  the 
person  who  hurts  his  mistress,  without  debating 
either  the  strength  or  character  of  the  assailant.  At 
these  trying  moments,  you  should  have  seen  the  air 
of  superiority  assumed  by  the  count ; he  thought  he 
was  triumphing  over  his  wife,  and  would  then  over- 
whelm her  with  a shower  of  words  in  which  the  one 
idea  was  repeated  over  and  over  again,  and  which 
were  like  the  strokes  of  an  axe  giving  out  the  same 
sound. 

“ Then  he  is  always  the  same  ? ” I said  when  the 
count  had  unavoidably  left  us,  called  away  by  his 
groom  who  came  to  look  for  him. 

“ Always  ! ” replied  Jacques. 


220 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ Always  excellent,  my  son,”  she  said  to  Jacques, 
thus  trying  to  screen  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  from  the 
judgment  of  his  children.  “ You  see  only  the  pres- 
ent, you  know  nothing  of  the  past,  and  you  could 
not  possibly  criticize  your  father  without  doing  him 
some  injustice  ; but,  should  you  have  the  sorrow  of 
seeing  your  father  in  the  wrong,  the  honor  of  the 
family  requires  that  you  should  bury  such  secrets 
in  the  most  profound  silence.” 

“ How  are  the  alterations  at  La  Cassine  and  La 
RhetOriere  getting  on  ? ” 1 asked,  so  as  to  draw  her 
away  from  her  bitter  thoughts. 

“ Far  beyond  my  hopes,”  she  said.  “ The  houses 
finished,  we  found  two  excellent  farmers,  one  of 
whom  took  the  house  at  four  thousand  five  hundred 
francs,  taxes  paid,  and  the  other  the  one  at  five  thou- 
sand francs ; and  the  leases  are  signed  for  fifteen 
years.  We  have  already  planted  three  thousand 
feet  of  trees  on  the  two  new  farms.  Manette’s 
kinsman  is  delighted  at  having  La  Rabelaye.  Marti- 
neau  holds  La  Baude.  The  property  of  our  four 
farmers  consists  of  the  meadows  and  woods,  from 
which  they  do  not,  like  some  unscrupulous  farmers, 
take  away  the  manure  destined  for  our  ploughlands. 
And  so  our  efforts  have  been  crowned  by  the  very 
greatest  success.  Clochegourde,  without  the  re- 
serves which  we  call  the  home-farm,  without  the 
woods  and  vineyards,  brings  in  nineteen  thousand 
francs,  and  the  plantations  have  paved  the  way  for 
some  good  annuities.  I am  fighting  hard  to  get  our 
reserved  ground  given  to  Martineau,  our  keeper, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


221 


who  can  now  be  replaced  by  his  son.  He  offers 
three  thousand  francs  for  it  if  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
will  build  him  a farm  at  La  Commanderie.  Then 
we  could  clear  the  outskirts  of  Clochegourde,  finish 
our  projected  avenue  as  far  as  the  Chinon  road,  and 
have  nothing  but  our  vineyards  and  forests  to  look 
after.  If  the  king  returns,  our  pension  will  be  re- 
covered ; we  shall  consent  to  it  after  a few  days’ 
cruise  against  our  wife’s  common  sense.  Jacques’ 
fortune  will  then  be  indestructible.  Once  these 
final  results  are  obtained,  I shall  let  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  save  up  for  Madeleine,  whom  the  king  will 
endow  besides,  according  to  custom.  My  conscience 
is  at  rest ; my  task  is  being  fulfilled — And  you  ? ” 
she  said. 

I explained  my  mission,  and  showed  her  how  wise 
and  profitable  her  advice  had  been.  Was  she  gifted 
with  second-sight  to  be  thus  able  to  foresee  events  ? 

“ Did  I not  write  you  as  much  ? ” she  said.  “ For 
you  alone  I can  exert  an  astonishing  faculty,  of 
which  I have  spoken  to  none  but  Monsieur  de  la 
Berge,  my  confessor,  and  which  he  attributes  to 
divine  intervention.  Often,  after  some  deep  mus- 
ings,  induced  by  the  anxieties  about  the  condition 
of  my  children,  my  eyes  became  closed  to  things  of 
the  earth  and  saw  into  another  region  ; whenever  I 
saw  Jacques  and  Madeleine  luminous,  for  a certain 
time  they  would  be  in  good  health  ; if  I saw  them 
there  enwrapped  in  mist,  they  soon  fell  ill.  As  for 
you,  not  only  do  I always  see  you  shining,  but  I 
hear  a soft  voice  which  tells  me,  without  words,  by 


222 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


some  mental  communication,  what  you  ought  to  do. 
By  what  law  am  I only  able  to  use  this  marvellous 
gift  for  my  children  and  for  you  ? ” she  said,  laps- 
ing into  reverie,  ‘Ms  it  that  God  wishes  to  act  as 
their  father  ? ” she  said  wondering,  after  a pause. 

“ Let  me  believe,”  I said,  “ that  I obey  none  but 
you  ! ” 

She  gave  me  one  of  those  perfectly  sweet  smiles 
that  caused  me  such  tremendous  intoxication  of 
heart,  that  I should  not  then  have  felt  a mortal  blow. 

“ As  soon  as  the  king  is  in  Paris,  go  there,  and 
leave  Clochegourde,”  she  continued,  “if  it  is  de- 
grading to  beg  for  offices  and  favors,  it  is  also  foolish 
not  to  be  within  reach  to  accept  them.  There  will 
be  some  great  changes.  The  king  will  need  capable, 
trustworthy  men,  do  not  fail  him  ; you  will  be  in- 
itiated young  into  affairs  and  you  will  be  all  the 
better  for  it ; for,  with  statesmen  as  with  actors, 
there  are  technical  things  that  genius  does  not  reveal, 
they  must  be  learned.  My  father  in  this  takes  after 
the  Due  de  Choiseul.  Think  of  me,”  she  said  after 
a pause,  “ let  me  taste  the  pleasures  of  supremacy 
in  a soul  entirely  my  own.  Are  you  not  my  son  ? ” 

“ Your  son  ? ” I rejoined,  pouting. 

“ Nothing  but  my  son,”  she  said,  laughing  at  me, 
“ is  not  that  possessing  a large  enough  place  in  my 
heart  ? ” 

The  bell  rang  for  dinner,  she  took  my  arm,  and 
leaned  upon  it  complacently. 

“ You  have  grown,”  she  said,  as  we  were  going 
up  the  stairs. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


223 


When  we  were  at  the  top,  she  shook  my  arm  as 
if  my  glances  affected  her  too  keenly  ; although  her 
eyes  were  cast  down,  she  knew  very  well  that  I 
looked  at  nothing  but  her ; so  she  said  to  me  with 
that  air  of  pretended  impatience,  so  graceful  and  so 
pretty  : 

“ Come  now,  do  look  a little  at  our  beloved 
valley  ! ” 

She  turned  round,  lifted  her  white  silk  parasol 
over  our  heads,  holding  Jacques  close  to  her ; and 
the  movement  of  the  head  with  which  she  showed 
me  the  Indre,  the  ferry-boat  and  the  meadows, 
proved  that,  since  my  visit  and  our  walks,  she  had 
come  to  an  understanding  with  these  filmy  horizons, 
with  their  misty  windings.  Nature  was  the  cloak 
beneath  which  her  thoughts  were  sheltered.  She 
now  knew  the  meaning  of  what  the  nightingale  sighs 
in  the  nights,  and  what  the  songster  of  the  marshes 
says  while  chanting  his  plaintive  note. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  I witnessed  a scene 
which  moved  me  deeply,  one  that  I had  never  been 
able  to  see,  as  I had  always  remained  to  play  with 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  whilst  she  went  into  the  din- 
ing-room before  the  children’s  bedtime.  The  bell 
rang  twice,  all  the  servants  of  the  house  assembled. 

“ You  are  our  guest,  you  must  obey  the  rule  of 
the  convent ! ” she  said,  dragging  me  along  by  the 
hand  with  that  air  of  innocent  fun  which  distinguishes 
the  really  pious  woman. 

The  count  followed  us.  Master,  children,  ser- 
vants, all  knelt  down,  bareheaded,  taking  their  usual 


224 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


places.  It  was  Madeleine’s  turn  to  say  the  prayers  ; 
the  dear  little  thing  said  them  in  her  childish  voice,  the 
guileless  tones  of  which  stood  out  clearly  in  the  har- 
monious silence  of  the  country  and  lent  to  the  phrases 
the  holy  purity  of  innocence,  that  gift  of  angels. 
It  was  the  most  touching  prayer  I have  ever  heard. 
Nature  answered  the  child’s  words  by  the  thou- 
sand rustlings  of  evening,  like  the  accompaniment 
of  an  organ  lightly  touched.  Madeleine  was  on  the 
right  of  the  countess  and  Jacques  on  the  left.  This 
graceful  cluster  of  the  two  heads  with  the  mother’s 
plaited  tresses  rising  between  and  the  snowy  hair 
and  yellow  skull  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  crowning 
all,  composed  a picture  the  colors  of  which  in  some 
sort  reflected  in  the  mind  the  ideas  awakened  by  the 
melodies  of  the  prayer ; lastly,  in  order  to  comply 
with  the  conditions  of  that  unity  which  marks  the 
sublime,  this  devout  assembly  was  enwrapped  in  the 
subdued  light  of  the  setting  sun,  the  red  tints  of 
which  were  coloring  the  room,  thus  permitting  the 
souls,  either  poetic  or  superstitious,  to  fancy  that 
the  fires  of  heaven  were  visiting  these  faithful  ser- 
vants of  God  kneeling  there  without  distinction  of 
rank,  in  the  equality  commanded  by  the  Church. 
By  carrying  me  back  to  the  days  of  patriarchal  life, 
my  thoughts  still  further  magnified  this  scene, 
already  so  grand  in  its  simplicity.  The  children  said 
good-night  to  their  father,  the  servants  saluted  us, 
the  countess  went  off,  giving  a hand  to  each  child, 
and  I returned  to  the  salon  with  the  count. 

“ We  work  out  your  salvation  there,  and  make 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  225 

your  hell  here,”  he  said,  pointing  to  the  back- 
gammon board. 

Half-an-hour  afterwards  the  countess  rejoined  us 
and  brought  her  frame  close  to  the  table. 

“ This  is  for  you,”  she  said,  unrolling  the  canvas, 
“ but,  for  three  months,  the  work  has  been  very 
slack.  Between  that  red  carnation  and  this  rose, 
my  poor  child  suffered.” 

“ Come,  come,”  said  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  “do 
not  let  us  talk  about  that  any  more.  Six-five,  mon- 
sieur r envoy e du  roi.” 

When  I went  to  bed,  I concentrated  my  thoughts 
so  as  to  listen  to  her  going  and  coming  in  her  room. 
If  she  was  calm  and  pure,  I was  wrought  up  by  wild 
ideas  inspired  by  intolerable  longings. 

“ Why  should  she  not  be  mine  ? ” I said  to  my- 
self. “ Perhaps  she  too  is  plunged  in  this  whirling 
excitement  of  the  senses?  ” 

At  one  o’clock,  I went  downstairs,  I was  able  to 
walk  without  making  a sound,  I reached  her  door,  and 
there  laid  myself  down  ; my  ear  applied  to  the  crack, 
I could  hear  her  breathing  as  evenly  and  gently 
as  a child.  When  overcome  by  cold,  I went  back 
again,  got  into  bed  and  slept  quietly  until  morning. 
I do  not  know  to  what  predestination,  what  nature, 
must  be  attributed  the  pleasure  that  I take  in  ap- 
proaching the  edge  of  precipices,  sounding  the  depths 
of  evil,  examining  the  bottom  of  it,  feeling  the  chill, 
and  drawing  back  altrmed. 

That  hour  of  the  night  passed  on  the  threshold  of 
her  door,  when  I wept  for  rage,  without  her  ever 

15 


226 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


knowing  that  the  next  day  she  had  trodden  upon 
my  tears  and  my  kisses,  upon  her  virtue  alternately 
destroyed  and  respected,  cursed  and  adored  ; that 
hour,  foolish  in  the  eyes  of  some,  is  a suggestion 
of  that  my  sterious  feeling  which  prompts  soldiers, 
for  some  of  them  have  told  me  that  they  had  thus 
staked  their  lives,  to  rush  in  front  of  a battery  to 
see  whether  they  would  escape  the  shot,  and  if  they 
were  fortunate  in  thus  crossing  the  abyss  of  chance, 
they  fumed  about  it  like  Jean  Bart  on  a cask  of 
powder. 

The  next  day,  I went  to  gather  and  arrange  two 
bouquets ; the  count  admired  them,  he  who  never 
was  roused  by  anything  of  this  kind,  and  for  whom 
the  remark  of  Champcenetz  : “ He  builds  prisons  in 
Spain,”  would  seem  to  have  been  said. 

1 spent  several  days  at  Clochegourde,  only  going 
to  pay  short  visits  at  Frapesle,  where  nevertheless  I 
dined  three  times.  The  French  army  had  just  oc- 
cupied Tours.  Although  I was  evidently  the  life  and 
health  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  she  besought  me  to 
go  to  Chateauroux,  and  to  return  in  all  haste  to 
Paris,  through  Issoudun  and  Orleans.  I tried  to 
resist,  she  commanded,  saying  that  the  familiar 
spirit  had  spoken  ; I obeyed.  This  time  our  fare- 
wells were  drenched  with  tears,  as  she  feared  for  me 
the  seductions  of  the  world  in  which  I was  to  live. 
Was  it  not  necessary  to  enter  seriously  into  the 
whirlwind  of  interests,  passions  and  pleasures  which 
makes  Paris  as  dangerous  a sea  to  pure  affection  as 
to  the  innocence  of  conscience  ? I promised  to  write 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


227 


her  every  night  the  events  and  thoughts  of  the  day, 
even  the  most  frivolous.  At  this  promise,  she 
leaned  her  drooping  head  upon  my  shoulder  and 
said  : 

“ Do  not  forget  anything,  it  all  interests  me.” 

She  gave  me  letters  for  the  duke  and  duchess,  to 
whose  house  I went  the  second  day  after  my  arrival. 

“You  are  in  luck,”  said  the  duke,  “dine  here, 
and  come  with  me  to-night  to  the  palace,  your  for- 
tune is  made.  The  king  mentioned  you  this  morn- 
ing, saying:  ‘ He  is  young,  capable  and  faithful.’ 
And  the  king  regretted  not  knowing  whether  you 
were  dead  or  alive,  or  to  what  spot  events  had 
driven  you,  after  having  so  well  fulfilled  your  mis- 
sion.” 

That  night,  I was  made  referendary*  to  the  Coun- 
cil of  State,  and  I was  given  a secret  post  at  the 
Court  of  the  King,  Louis  XVIII.,  of  the  same  per- 
manence as  that  of  his  reign,  a place  of  trust,  with- 
out brilliant  favors,  but  removed  from  the  chances 
of  disfavor,  which  threw  me  into  the  heart  of  the 
government  and  was  the  source  of  my  prosperity. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  advised  rightly,  and  so  I 
owed  everything  to  her:  power,  riches,  success  and 
knowledge  ; she  guided  and  encouraged  me,  purified 
my  heart  and  imparted  that  unity  to  my  will  with- 
out which  the  forces  of  youth  are  expended  in  vain- 

Later  on,  I had  a colleague.  Each  of  us  was  on 
duty  for  six  months.  We  could  take  each  other’s 

* An  officer  in  France  whose  duty  consists  in  reporting 
petitions  to  the  Council  of  State. 


228 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


place  if  necessary  ; we  had  a room  in  the  palace, 
our  carriageand,  large  remunerations  for  our  expenses 
when  we  were  obliged  to  travel. 

Strange  position  ! To  be  the  secret  disciples  of  a 
monarch  to  whose  policy  his  enemies  have  since 
rendered  open  justice,  to  listen  to  him,  deciding 
everything,  domestic  and  foreign,  to  be  without  any 
evident  influence,  and  to  find  one’s  self  sometimes 
consulted  as  was  Laforet  by  Moliere,  to  feel  the  in- 
decisions of  a long  experience  confirmed  by  the  con- 
science of  youth.  Our  future,  also,  was  established 
in  such  a way  as  to  satisfy  ambition.  Besides  my 
salary  as  referendary,  paid  by  the  budget  of  the 
Council  of  State,  the  king  allowed  me  a thousand 
francs  a month  out  of  his  privy-purse,  and  himself 
often  gave  me  presents.  Although  the  king  foresaw 
that  a young  man  of  twenty-three  could  not  long 
endure  the  work  with  which  he  overwhelmed  me, 
my  colleague,  now  a peer  of  France,  was  not  chosen 
until  about  the  month  of  August,  1817.  This  se- 
lection was  so  difficult,  our  duties  required  so  many 
qualifications,  that  the  king  was  a long  time  coming 
to  a decision.  He  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  with 
which  one  of  the  young  men  among  whom  he  was 
hesitating  I should  agree  the  best.  Amongst  them 
happened  to  be  one  of  my  schoolfellows  of  the  pen- 
sion Lepitre,  and  I did  not  mention  him  at  all ; His 
Majesty  asked  me  why. 

“ The  King,”  I said,  “ has  chosen  men  of  equal 
fidelity  but  of  different  capacity  ; I have  named  the 
one  whom  I believe  to  be  the  most  able,  feeling  sure 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  229 

of  always  living  on  good  terms  with  him.”  My 
judgment  coincided  with  that  of  the  king,  who  was 
always  grateful  to  me  for  the  sacrifice  that  I had 
made  on  this  occasion.  He  said  to  me  : 

“ You  shall  be  Monsieur  le  Premier.” 

He  did  not  forget  to  tell  this  incident  to  my  col- 
league who,  in  return  for  this  service,  gave  me  his 
friendship. 

The  consideration  so  conspicuously  shown  me  by 
the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  regulated  that  with  which  I 
was  surrounded  by  society.  These  words  : “ The 
king  takes  deep  interest  in  that  young  man ; that 
young  man  has  a future,  the  king  likes  him,”  would 
have  supplied  the  place  of  talent,  but  to  the  gra- 
cious welcome  of  which  young  people  are  the  ob- 
ject, they  communicated  an  indescribable  something 
that  is  accorded  to  power.  Were  I at  the  house  of 
the  Due  de  Lenoncourt,  or  at  that  of  my  sister,  who 
about  this  time  married  her  cousin  the  Marquis  de 
Listomere,  the  son  of  the  old  relation  whom  I used 
to  visit  at  the  Isle  of  Saint-Louis,  I gradually  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  most  influential  people  of 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

Henriette  soon  launched  me  into  the  heart  of  the 
society  known  as  le  Petit-Chateau  through  the  at- 
tentions of  the  Princesse  de  Blamont-Chauvry, 
whose  step  great-niece  she  was  ; so  warmly  did  she 
write  to  her  on  my  behalf,  that  the  princess  im- 
mediately invited  me  to  come  to  see  her ; I cul- 
tivated her  acquaintance,  I succeeded  in  pleasing 
her,  and  she  became  not  only  my  protectress,  but  a 


230  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

friend  whose  feelings  were  indescribably  maternal. 
The  old  princess  gladly  undertook  to  connect  me 
with  her  daughter,  Madame  d’Espard,  with  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant 
and  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  women  who 
successively  wielded  the  sceptre  of  fashion  and  who 
were  all  the  more  gracious  to  me  in  that  I was  un- 
assuming with  them,  and  was  always  ready  to  be 
agreeable  to  them.  My  brother  Charles,  far  from 
disowning  me,  from  that  moment  relied  upon  me ; 
but  this  rapid  success  filled  him  with  a secret  jealousy 
which,  later  on,  gave  me  much  trouble.  My  father 
and  mother,  surprised  at  this  unexpected  good  for- 
tune, felt  flattered  in  their  vanity,  and  at  last 
adopted  me  as  their  son  ; but,  as  their  feeling  was 
somewhat  artificial,  not  to  say  affected,  this  recon- 
ciliation had  very  little  influence  over  an  ulcerated 
heart ; besides,  affections  tainted  with  egotism  stir 
the  sympathies  but  little  ; the  heart  abhors  calcula- 
tion and  gain  of  any  kind. 

I wrote  faithfully  to  my  dear  Henriette,  who  re- 
plied by  one  or  two  letters  every  month.  Her  spirit 
thus  hovered  over  me,  her  thoughts  traversed  the 
distance  and  kept  me  in  a pure  atmosphere.  No 
woman  could  captivate  me.  The  king  knew  of  my 
reserve  ; in  this  respect  he  was  of  the  school  of  Louis 
XV.,  and  he  laughingly  called  me  : Mademoiselle  de 
Vandenesse,  but  he  was  mightily  pleased  with  the 
discretion  of  my  behavior.  I am  convinced  that  the 
patience  I had  acquired  as  a habit  in  childhood  and 
especially  at  Clochegourde,  greatly  helped  to  win  me 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


231 


the  good  graces  of  the  king,  who  was  always  excel- 
lent to  me.  No  doubt  he  took  it  into  his  head  to 
read  my  letters,  for  he  was  not  long  deceived  by  my 
spinster-like  life.  One  day,  the  duke  was  on  duty, 
I was  writing  at  the  dictation  of  the  king,  who,  see- 
ing the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  coming  in,  looked  at  us 
both  mischievously. 

“ Well,  then  this  devil  of  a Mortsauf  still  insists 
upon  living  ? ” he  said  in  his  beautiful,  silvery  voice 
to  which  he  knew  how  to  communicate  at  will  the 
poignancy  of  epigram. 

“ Just  the  same  as  ever,”  replied  the  duke. 

“ The  Comtesse  de  Mortsauf,  however,  is  an  angel 
whom  I should  much  like  to  see  here,”  continued 
the  king,  “ but,  if  I am  powerless,  my  chancellor,” 
he  said,  turning  to  me,  “ will  be  more  successful. 
You  have  six  months  to  yourself,  1 have  decided  to 
give  you  as  colleague  the  young  man  of  whom  we 
were  speaking  yesterday.  Amuse  yourself  well  at 
Clochegourde,  Monsieur  Cato  ! ” 

And  he  had  himself  wheeled  out  of  the  room, 
smiling. 


I flew  like  a swallow  to  Touraine.  For  the  first 
time,  1 was  about  to  appear  before  her  whom  1 loved, 
not  only  a little  less  simple,  but  also  in  the  apparel 
of  a fashionable  young  man  whose  manners  had  been 
formed  by  the  most  polished  circles,  whose  educa- 
tion had  been  finished  by  the  most  gracious  women, 
who  had  finally  reaped  the  reward  of  his  sufferings, 
and  who  had  made  use  of  the  experience  of  the  love- 
liest angel  that  Heaven  ever  committed  to  the  care 
of  a child.  You  know  how  I had  been  equipped 
during  the  three  months  of  my  first  visit  to  Frapesle. 

When  I returned  to  Clochegourde  at  the  time  of 
my  mission  from  La  Vendee,  I was  dressed  like  a 
huntsman.  I wore  a green  jacket  with  whity-red  but- 
tons, striped  trousers,  leather  gaiters  and  shoes. 
The  journey  and  the  thickets  had  made  me  so  untidy, 
that  the  count  was  obliged  to  lend  me  some  linen. 
This  time,  two  years*  sojourn  in  Paris,  the  habit 
of  being  with  the  king,  the  habiliments  of  prosperity, 
my  completed  growth,  a youthful  physiognomy 
which  took  an  inexpressible  lustre  from  the  placidity 
of  a soul  magnetically  united  to  the  pure  soul  which 

beamed  upon  me  from  Clochegourde,  all  had  trans- 

233 


234 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


formed  me ; I was  confident,  without  conceit,  I felt 
an  inward  satisfaction  at  finding  myself,  in  spite  of 
my  youth,  at  the  summit  of  affairs ; I had  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  the  secret  support  of  the  most 
adorable  woman  here  below,  her  unavowed  hope. 
Perhaps  I felt  a slight  stir  of  vanity  when  the  whip 
of  the  postilions  cracked  in  the  new  avenue  which 
led  from  the  Chinon  road  to  Clochegourde,  and  when 
a gate  that  I did  not  recognize  was  opened  in  the 
middle  of  a newly-built  circular  enclosure.  I had 
not  written  to  tell  the  countess  of  my  arrival,  wish- 
ing to  give  her  a surprise  ; and  I was  doubly  wrong  ; 
in  the  first  place  she  experienced  the  shock  that  is 
given  by  a pleasure  long  hoped  for,  but  looked  upon 
as  impossible  ; then  she  proved  to  me  that  all  cal- 
culated surprises  were  in  bad  taste. 

When  Henriette  saw  before  her  the  young  man 
whom  she  had  hitherto  seen  only  as  a child,  she 
bent  her  eyes  upon  the  ground  with  a movement  of 
tragic  deliberation  ; she  let  me  take  and  kiss  her 
hand  without  evincing  any  of  that  inward  pleasure 
that  she  made  known  to  me  by  her  sensitive  shiver  ; 
and,  when  she  raised  her  face  to  look  at  me  once 
more,  I thought  her  pale. 

“ Well,  then  you  do  not  forget  your  old  friends  ? ” 
said  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who  was  neither  changed 
nor  aged.  The  two  children  leaped  round  my  neck. 
In  the  doorway  I saw  the  grave  face  of  the  Abbe  de 
Dominis,  Jacques’s  tutor. 

“ No,”  I said  to  the  count,  “ hereafter  I shall  have 
six  months  free  in  every  year,  and  they  shall  always 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  235 

belong  to  you — Well,  what  is  the  matter  ? ” I said 
to  the  countess,  putting  my  arm  round  her  waist  to 
support  her,  in  the  presence  of  all  her  family. 

“Oh!  let  me  alone  !”  she  said  starting,  “it  is 
nothing.” 

I read  her  mind,  and  answered  her  secret  thought 
by  saying : 

“ Then  do  you  no  longer  recognize  your  faithful 
slave  ? ” 

She  took  my  arm,  left  the  count,  her  children,  the 
abbe,  the  assembled  servants,  and  led  me  far  away 
from  them  all  by  going  round  the  lawn,  but  remain- 
ing within  sight ; then,  when  she  thought  that  her 
voice  could  not  be  heard  : 

“Felix,  my  friend,”  she  said,  “ forgive  the  fear  of 
one  who  steers  by  but  a single  thread  through 
a subterranean  labyrinth,  and  who  trembles  lest  it 
should  snap.  Tell  me  again  that  I am  more  than 
ever  your  Henriette,  that  you  will  never  forsake  me, 
that  nothing  shall  prevail  against  me,  that  you  will 
always  be  a devoted  friend ! I suddenly  saw  into 
the  future,  and  you  were  not  there,  as  you  usually 
are,  with  a shining  face  and  your  eyes  upon  me ; 
you  were  turning  your  back  upon  me.” 

“ Henriette,  idol  more  worshipped  than  is  God, 
lily,  flower  of  my  life,  how  is  it  that  you  no  longer 
know,  you  who  are  my  conscience,  that  I am  so 
well  incarnated  in  your  heart  that  my  soul  is  here 
when  my  body  is  in  Paris  ? Need  1 tell  you  that  I 
came  here  in  seventeen  hours,  that  every  turn  of 
the  wheel  bore  along  a world  of  thoughts  and  de- 


236  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

sires  which  burst  like  a tempest  the  moment  I saw 
you  ? — 

“ Tell  me,  tell  me  ! I am  sure  of  myself,  I can 
listen  to  you  without  any  crime.  God  does  not  will 
me  to  die  ; He  sends  you  to  me  as  He  dispenses  His 
breath  to  His  creations,  as  He  sheds  the  rain  of  the 
clouds  upon  an  arid  earth  ; tell  me  ! tell  me  ! do  you 
love  me  purely  ? ” 

“ Purely.” 

“ For  ever  ? ” 

“ For  ever.” 

“ As  a Virgin  Mary,  who  must  remain  in  her  veil 
and  beneath  her  white  crown  ? ” 

“ As  a visible  Virgin  Mary.” 

“As  a sister  ? ” 

“ As  a sister  too  well  beloved.” 

“As  a mother  ? ” 

“ As  a mother  secretly  desired.” 

“ Chivalrously,  without  hope  ? ” 

“ Chivalrously,  but  with  hope.” 

“ In  short,  as  if  you  were  only  twenty  and  were 
wearing  your  poor  little  blue  coat  of  the  ball  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! better.  I love  you  thus,  and  I love  you 
even  more  as — ” 

She  looked  at  me  in  keen  apprehension — 

“ As  you  loved  your  aunt.” 

“ I am  happy  : you  have  dispelled  my  terrors,” 
she  said,  turning  back  toward  the  family,  who  were 
astonished  at  our  secret  conference,  “ but  be  just  a 
child  here  ! you  are  yet  a child.  If  your  policy  is 
to  be  a man  with  the  king,  know,  monsieur,  that , 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


237 


here  it  is  to  remain  a child.  As  a child,  you  shall 
be  loved.  I should  always  resist  the  man’s  force  ; but 
what  is  there  that  I would  refuse  the  child  ? Noth- 
ing : there  can  be  nothing  he  wants  that  I cannot 
grant  him.  The  secrets  are  told,”  she  said,  looking 
at  the  count  with  a mischievous  air  in  which  the 
girl  and  her  original  character  reappeared.  “ I leave 
you,  I am  going  to  dress.” 

Never,  for  three  years,  had  I heard  her  voice  so 
completely  happy.  For  the  first  time,  I perceived 
those  pretty  swallow-like  cries,  those  childish  notes 
of  which  I have  told  you.  I brought  a hunting 
equipment  for  Jacques,  and  for  Madeleine  a work- 
box  which  her  mother  afterwards  always  used ; at 
last  I atoned  for  the  meanness  to  which  I had  for- 
merly been  condemned  by  my  mother’s  parsimony. 
The  joy  evinced  by  the  children,  delighted  at  show- 
ing each  other  their  presents,  seemed  to  annoy  the 
count,  who  was  always  peevish  when  he  was  not 
taken  notice  of.  I made  Madeleine  a sign  of  in- 
telligence, and  followed  the  count,  who  wanted  to 
talk  to  me  about  himself.  He  led  me  toward  the 
terrace  ; but  we  stopped  on  the  steps  at  each  serious 
point  with  which  he  entertained  me. 

“My  poor  Felix,”  he  said,  “ you  see  them  all 
happy  and  well ; as  for  me,  I darken  the  scene ; I 
have  caught  their  complaints,  and  I bless  God  for 
having  given  them  to  me.  Formerly,  I did  not  know 
what  was  the  matter  with  me ; but  now,  I know ; 
the  pylorus  is  attacked,  I can  digest  nothing.” 

“ By  what  accident  have  you  become  as  learned 


238  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

as  a professor  in  the  Medical  College  ? ” I said, 
smiling.  “ Has  your  doctor  been  indiscreet  enough 
to  tell  you  this—  ? ” 

“ Heaven  preserve  me  from  doctors  ! ” he  cried, 
showing  the  repulsion  that  most  would-be  invalids 
feel  for  medicine. 

Then  I had  to  endure  a foolish  conversation,  in 
which  he  made  me  the  most  ridiculous  confidences, 
complaining  about  his  wife,  his  servants,  his  chil- 
dren and  life,  while  taking  evident  pleasure  in  re- 
peating his  every-day  grumblings  to  a friend  who, 
not  knowing  them,  might  be  startled  by  them,  and 
whom  politeness  compelled  to  listen  with  interest. 
He  must  have  been  pleased  with  me,  for  I lent  him 
the  most  profound  attention,  while  trying  to  fathom 
this  extraordinary  character,  and  to  guess  the  fresh 
tortures  that  he  was  inflicting  upon  his  wife  and  which 
she  was  keeping  from  me.  Henriette  put  a stop  to 
this  monologue  by  appearing  on  the  steps  ; the  count 
saw  her,  tossed  his  head  and  said  : 

“ You  listen  to  me,  you  do,  Felix;  but,  here,  no- 
body pities  me!” 

He  went  off,  as  if  conscious  of  the  damper  he  had 
cast  over  my  conversation  with  Henriette,  or  as  if, 
through  some  chivalrous  consideration  for  her,  he 
had  known  that  he  was  pleasing  her  by  leaving  us 
alone.  His  character  afforded  really  inexplicable 
inflections,  for  he  was  jealous  like  all  weak  men  ; 
but  then  his  confidence  in  his  wife's  purity  was  un- 
limited ; it  may  even  be  that  the  sufferings  of  pride, 
offended  by  the  superiority  of  this  great  virtue,  en- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  239 

couraged  his  ceaseless  opposition  to  the  wishes  of 
the  countess,  whom  he  defied  as  children  defy  their 
masters  or  their  mothers.  Jacques  was  doing  his 
lessons,  Madeleine  was  dressing ; so,  for  about  an 
hour,  I was  able  to  walk  alone  with  the  countess  on 
the  terrace. 

“Well,  dear  angel,”  I said,  “the  chain  grows 
heavier,  the  sands  burn,  the  thorns  multiply  ? ” 

“ Hush  ! ” she  said,  guessing  the  thoughts  sug- 
gested to  me  by  my  conversation  with  the  count. 
“You  are  here,  all  is  forgotten  ! I do  not  suffer  at 
all,  I have  not  suffered  ! ” 

She  executed  a few  light  steps,  as  if  to  ventilate 
her  white  dress,  to  surrender  to  the  gentle  breeze 
her  ruches  of  snowy  tulle,  her  floating  sleeves,  her 
fresh  ribbons,  her  cape  and  the  flowing  curls  of  her 
coiffure  a la  Sevigne  ; and  I saw  her  for  the  first 
time  girlish,  gay  with  her  natural  gayety,  ready  to 
play  like  a child.  1 then  knew  both  the  tears  of 
happiness  and  the  joy  that  man  feels  in  giving 
pleasure. 

“ Beautiful  human  flower  that  my  thought  caresses 
and  my  soul  embraces ! oh  ! my  lily  ! ” I said, 
“ always  intact  and  straight  upon  its  stem,  always 
white,  proud,  scented,  solitary  ! ” 

“Enough,  monsieur/’  she  said,  smiling.  “Talk 
to  me  about  yourself,  tell  me  everything.” 

Then  beneath  this  mobile  vault  of  quivering  leaves 
we  had  a long  conversation  full  of  interminable  par- 
entheses, taken  up,  dismissed  and  resumed,  in  which 
I told  her  all  about  my  life,  and  my  occupations ; I 


240  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

described  my  apartment  in  Paris,  for  she  wanted  to 
know  everything ; and,  happiness  then  unappre- 
ciated, I had  nothing  to  hide  from  her. 

Upon  thus  knowing  my  soul  and  all  the  details  of 
this  existence  fraught  with  overwhelming  toil,  upon 
learning  the  extent  of  these  duties  in  which,  with- 
out strict  honesty,  one  could  so  easily  cheat  and  en- 
rich one's  self,  but  which  I administered  with  so  much 
precision  that  the  king,  I told  her,  called  me  Made- 
moiselle de  Vandenesse , she  seized  my  hand  and  kissed 
it,  dropping  upon  it  a tear  of  joy.  This  sudden  trans- 
position of  roles,  this  great  eulogy,  this  thought,  so 
swiftly  expressed,  but  more  quickly  grasped  : “ This 
is  the  master  I would  have  liked  ! this  is  my  dream  ! ” 
all  that  there  was  of  avowal  in  this  action,  in  which 
humility  was  grandeur,  and  love  revealed  itself  for- 
bidden to  the  senses,  this  tempest  of  things  divine 
smote  me  to  the  heart  and  overwhelmed  me.  I felt 
myself  inferior,  I would  have  liked  to  die  at  her 
feet. 

“ Ah  ! ” I said,  “ you  always  surpass  us  in  every- 
thing. How  could  you  doubt  me  ? for  there  was 
some  doubt  just  now,  Henriette." 

“ Not  now,"  she  rejoined,  looking  at  me  with  an 
unspeakable  gentleness,  which,  for  me  alone,  veiled 
the  light  of  her  eyes,  “but  upon  finding  you  so 
handsome,  I said  to  myself : ‘ Our  plans  for  Made- 
leine will  be  upset  by  some  woman  who  will  divine 
the  treasures  hidden  in  your  heart,  who  will  adore 
you,  steal  away  our  Felix  and  ruin  everything 
here.'" 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


241 


“Always  Madeleine,”  I*  said,  expressing  a sur- 
prise which  only  half  distressed  her,  “ so  it  is  to 
Madeleine  that  I am  faithful  ? ” 

We  fell  into  a silence  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
unluckily  interrupted.  With  a full  heart,  I had  to 
keep  up  a conversation  bristling  with  difficulties,  in 
which  my  candid  replies  as  to  the  policy  at  that  time 
pursued  by  the  king  clashed  with  the  ideas  of  the 
count,  who  forced  me  to  explain  His  Majesty’s  views. 
In  spite  of  my  inquiries  about  his  horses,  about  the 
state  of  his  agricultural  affairs,  as  to  whether  he  was 
satisfied  with  his  five  farms,  whether  he  was  going 
to  cut  down  the  trees  in  an  old  avenue,  he  would 
always  return  to  politics  with  all  the  importunity  of 
an  old  maid  and  the  persistence  of  a child ; for 
this  kind  of  intellect  readily  rushes  in  the  direction 
of  the  light,  continually  returning  and  buzzing  with- 
out penetrating  anything,  fatiguing  the  mind  just  as 
big  flies  tire  the  ear  by  humming  up  and  down  the 
window-panes.  Henriette  was  silent.  In  order  to 
put  an  end  to  this  conversation  which  the  vehe- 
mence of  youth  might  have  excited,  I replied  by 
acquiescent  monosyllables,  thereby  avoiding  useless 
discussions  ; but  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  far  too 
intelligent  not  to  be  sensible  of  all  that  was  repellent 
In  my  politeness.  Then  he  grew  angry  at  being 
always  in  the  right,  he  rebelled,  his  eyebrows  and 
the  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  worked,  his  yellow  eyes 
flashed,  and  his  inflamed  nose  flushed  still  deeper, 
as  on  the  day,  when  for  the  first  time,  I witnessed 

one  of  his  attacks  of  madness ; Henriette  looked  at 

16 


242  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

me  imploringly  while  giving  me  to  understand  that 
she  could  not  exert  on  my  behalf  the  authority 
which  she  employed  to  justify  or  defend  her  chil- 
dren. So  1 answered  the  count,  taking  him  seri- 
ously and  managing  his  suspicious  spirit  with  extreme 
tact. 

“ Poor  dear ! Poor  dear ! ” she  said,  repeatedly 
murmuring  these  two  words  which  fell  upon  my  ear 
like  a breeze. 

Then,  when  she  thought  she  could  successfully 
interpose,  she  said,  coming  to  a standstill  : 

“ Do  you  know,  messieurs,  that  you  are  quite 
tiresome  ? ” 

Reminded  by  this  interrogation  of  the  chivalrous 
compliance  due  to  women,  the  count  stopped  talking 
politics ; we  bored  him  in  our  turn  by  talking  non- 
sense, and  he  left  us  to  walk  up  and  down  at  our 
leisure,  declaring  that  it  made  him  giddy  to  go  over 
the  same  space  continually. 

My  gloomy  conjectures  were  correct.  The  pleas- 
ant scenery,  the  soft  atmosphere,  the  beautiful  sky, 
and  the  intoxicating  poetry  of  the  valley,  which  for 
fifteen  years  had  calmed  the  sick  man’s  galling 
humors,  were  now  powerless.  At  a time  of  life 
when,  with  other  men,  asperities  are  softened  and 
angles  blunted,  the  old  nobleman’s  temper  had  become 
even  more  aggressive  than  in  the  past.  For  the  last 
few  months,  he  had  been  contradicting  for  the  sake  of 
contradiction,  without  reason,  and  without  justifying 
his  opinions  ; he  asked  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
everything,  fidgeted  over  any  delay  or  omission, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


243 


interfered  at  every  turn  in  domestic  affairs,  and  in- 
sisted upon  having  an  account  of  the  smallest  house- 
hold trifles,  so  as  to  weary  his  wife  or  her  servants 
by  allowing  them  no  sort  of  free  will.  At  one  time, 
he  never  got  angry  without  some  ostensible  motive, 
now  his  irritation  was  constant.  It  may  be  that  the 
cares  of  his  fortune,  the  agricultural  speculations, 
and  a life  of  action  had  hitherto  diverted  his  splen- 
etic humor  by  providing  food  for  his  restlessness, 
and  by  employing  his  activity  of  mind  ; and  now 
perhaps  the  lack  of  occupation  was  driving  his  illness 
back  upon  itself ; deprived  of  any  outward  exercise 
it  manifested  itself  in  fixed  ideas,  the  mental  I had 
mastered  the  physical  /.  He  was  his  own  doctor ; 
he  would  peruse  medical  books,  believing  himself  to 
have  the  maladies  the  descriptions  of  which  he  read, 
and  then,  for  his  health’s  sake  would  take  unheard-of, 
erratic  precautions,  which  were  impossible  to  anti- 
cipate, and  therefore  impossible  to  satisfy.  At 
one  time,  he  would  not  have  a sound,  and,  when 
the  countess  established  absolute  silence  about  him, 
he  would  suddenly  complain  of  being  as  if  in  a 
tomb  ; he  said  there  was  a medium  between  no  noise 
and  the  nothingness  of  La  Trappe.  At  another  time, 
he  would  affect  complete  indifference  to  earthly 
things  ; the  whole  house  then  breathed  again,  the  chil- 
dren played,  the  household  duties  were  accomplished 
without  any  criticism  ; suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the 
bustle,  he  would  cry  mournfully  : 

“ They  want  to  kill  me  ! ” — “ My  dear,  were  it  a 
question  of  your  children,  you  would  easily  find  out 


244  THE  lily  of  the  valley 

what  worried  them,”  he  would  say  to  his  wife, 
heightening  the  injustice  of  these  words  by  the 
bitter,  cold  tone  with  which  he  accompanied  them. 

He  dressed  and  undressed  at  every  moment, 
watching  the  slightest  variations  in  the  atmosphere, 
and  he  would  do  nothing  without  consulting  the  barom- 
eter. In  spite  of  his  wife’s  motherly  attentions, 
he  found  no  food  to  his  liking,  for  he  declared  he  had 
a disordered  stomach  the  painful  digestion  of  which 
gave  him  continual  attacks  of  insomnia  ; never- 
theless, he  ate,  drank,  digested  and  slept  with  a per- 
fection at  which  the  most  learned  doctor  would  have 
marvelled.  His  fickle  caprices  disgusted  the  ser- 
vants of  the  house,  who,  methodical  as  are  all  ser- 
vants, were  unable  to  adapt  themselves  to  the 
requirements  of  unceasingly  contrary  systems.  The 
count  would  order  the  windows  to  be  kept  open 
under  the  pretext  that  in  the  future  the  open  air  was 
necessary  to  his  health,  a few  days  afterward,  the 
open  air,  either  too  damp  or  too  warm,  became  intol- 
erable ; then  he  would  scold,  begin  quarrelling, 
and,  in  order  to  be  in  the  right,  would  often  deny 
his  previous  instructions.  This  defect  of  memory  or 
bad  faith  decided  in  his  favor  all  the  discussions  in 
which  his  wife  tried  to  oppose  him.  Residence  at 
Clochegourde  had  become  so  unbearable,  that  the 
Abbe  de  Dominis,  a highly-educated  man,  resolved 
to  discover  the  solution  of  several  problems,  and  in- 
trenched himself  in  feigned  abstraction.  The  count- 
ess no  longer  expected,  as  in  the  past,  to  be  able  to 
hide  the  fits  of  insane  rage  within  the  circle  of  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


245 


family  ; the  servants  had  already  witnessed  scenes 
in  which  the  senseless  exasperation  of  this  prema- 
ture old  man  passed  all  bounds  ; they  were  so  de- 
voted to  the  countess,  that  nothing  of  this  transpired 
outside,  but  every  day  she  dreaded  some  public  out- 
burst of  this  frenzy  which  was  no  longer  restrained 
by  fear  of  the  world’s  opinion.  Later  on  I learned  some 
horrible  details  of  the  count’s  behavior  to  his  wife  ; 
instead  of  comforting  her,  he  overwhelmed  her  with 
sinister  predictions  and  made  her  responsible  for  the 
coming  misfortunes,  because  she  rejected  the  absurd 
remedies  to  which  he  wanted  to  subject  his  children. 
Did  the  countess  go  for  a walk  with  Jacques  and 
Madeleine,  the  count  would  predict  a storm,  in  spite 
of  the  clearness  of  the  sky  ; if  by  chance  the  issue 
justified  his  prognostication,  the  satisfaction  to  his 
vanity  rendered  him  insensible  to  his  children’s 
harm ; were  one  of  them  indisposed,  the  count 
would  devote  all  his  ingenuity  to  assign  the  cause  of 
the  suffering  to  the  system  of  care  adopted  by 
his  wife,  which  he  would  criticize  in  its  minutest 
details,  always  concluding  with  these  annihilating 
words : “ If  your  children  fall  ill  again,  you  will 
certainly  have  intended  it.” 

He  would  behave  in  this  way  about  the  least 
items  of  the  domestic  management,  in  which  he 
never  looked  upon  any  but  the  worst  side  of  things, 
at  every  turn  making  himself  the  devil's  advocate, 
according  to  an  expression  of  his  old  coachman. 
The  countess  had  appointed  different  hours  for  Jac- 
ques and  Madeleine  to  take  their  meals,  and  had 


246  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

thus  withdrawn  them  from  the  terrible  influence  of 
the  count’s  malady,  while  drawing  all  the  storms 
upon  herself.  Madeleine  and  Jacques  rarely  saw 
their  father.  Through  one  of  those  delusions  pecu- 
liar to  egotists,  the  count  had  not  the  least  conscious- 
ness of  the  harm  he  was  doing.  In  the  confidential 
talk  we  had  had,  he  had  particularly  lamented  having 
been  too  kind  to  all  his  family.  And  so  he  wielded 
the  flail,  beating  and  crushing  all  around  him  as  a 
monkey  might  have  done  ; then,  after  having 
wounded  his  victim,  he  would  deny  having  struck 
her.  Then  I understood  the  origin  of  those  lines 
drawn  as  if  with  the  edge  of  a razor  across  the 
countess’s  forehead,  which  I had  noticed  upon 
seeing  her  again.  With  noble  minds  there  is  a 
modesty  which  prevents  them  from  expressing 
their  sufferings,  they  proudly  conceal  the  extent  of 
them  from  those  they  love  through  a feeling  of 
exquisite  charity.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  my  im- 
portunities, I did  not  wring  this  confidence  from  Hen- 
riette  all  at  once.  She  was  afraid  of  distressing  me, 
and  made  admissions  broken  by  sudden  flushes  ; 
but  I had  soon  divined  the  aggravation  that  the 
count’s  idleness  had  contributed  to  the  domestic 
troubles  of  Clochegourde. 

“ Henriette,”  I said  to  her  a few  days  after, 
proving  to  her  that  I had  gauged  the  depth  of  her 
fresh  miseries,  “were  you  not  wrong  to  arrange 
your  property  so  well,  that  the  count  could  find  no 
more  to  do  ? ” 

“Dear,”  she  said  smiling,  “my  position  is 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


247 


sufficiently  difficult  to  require  all  my  vigilance,  you 
may  be  sure  that  I have  thoroughly  studied  all  its  re- 
sources, and  they  are  all  exhausted.  Indeed,  the 
worries  have  always  been  growing.  As  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  and  I are  always  together,  I cannot  re- 
duce them  by  dividing  them  up  into  several  heads, 
all  would  be  equally  painful  to  me.  I have  thought 
of  diverting  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  by  advising  him 
to  establish  silk-breeding  at  Clochegourde,  where 
there  are  already  a few  mulberry-trees,  the  re- 
mains of  the  old  industry  of  Touraine ; but  I 
knew  that  he  would  be  just  as  tyrannical  at  home 
and  that  I should  have  in  addition  the  thousand 
and  one  worries  of  this  undertaking.  You  must 
know,  Monsieur  l’Observateur,”  she  said,  “that, 
in  youth,  the  bad  qualities  of  man  are  restrained 
by  society,  arrested  in  their  flight  by  the  play  of 
passions,  hampered  by  the  fear  of  public  opinion  ; 
later  on,  in  solitude,  with  an  elderly  man,  the  little 
faults  appear  to  be  all  the  more  terrible  in  that 
they  have  been  so  long  repressed.  Human  weak- 
nesses are  essentially  cowardly,  they  admit  of 
neither  peace  nor  truce ; whatever  you  have  con- 
ceded to  them  yesterday,  they  exact  to-day,  to- 
morrow and  always  ; they  are  founded  upon  con- 
cessions and  expand  them.  Power  is  merciful,  it 
yields  to  evidence,  it  is  just  and  peaceable ; 
whilst  the  passions  engendered  by  weakness  are 
pitiless  ; they  are  only  pleased  when  they  can  fol- 
low the  example  of  those  children  who  prefer  the 
stolen  fruits  in  secret  to  those  they  can  eat  at  table  ; 


248 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


and  so  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  experiences  real  pleas 
ure  in  taking  advantage  of  me ; and  he  who 
would  never  deceive  anybody  deceives  me  with  de- 
light, provided  that  the  deceit  goes  no  further  than 
the  home  tribunal. n 


About  a month  after  my  arrival,  one  morning, 
upon  getting  up  from  breakfast,  the  countess  seized 
me  by  the  arm,  escaped  through  a glass  door  which 
opened  upon  the  orchard,  and  dragged  me  quickly 
into  the  vineyard. 

“ Ah  ! he  will  kill  me  ! ” she  said,  “ And  yet,  I 
want  to  live  were  it  only  for  the  children  ! What ! 
never  a day’s  respite  ? To  walk  for  ever  in  the 
briars,  nearly  falling  at  every  moment,  and  at  every 
moment  collecting  one’s  strength  to  keep  one’s 
balance  ? No  human  being  could  meet  such  waste 
of  energy.  If  I were  sure  of  the  ground  against 
which  my  efforts  were  to  be  directed,  if  my  resistance 
were  determined,  the  mind  would  adapt  itself ; but 
no,  each  day  the  character  of  the  attack  varies,  and 
surprises  me  without  defence ; my  misery  is  not 
single,  it  is  multiple.  Felix,  Felix,  you  cannot  pos- 
sibly imagine  the  odious  shape  his  tyranny  has  as- 
sumed, and  what  barbarous  demands  have  been 
suggested  to  him  by  his  medical  books.  Oh  ! my 
friend  ! — ” she  said,  leaning  her  head  on  my 
shoulder  without  completing  her  confidence,  “ What 
is  to  become  of  me  ? what  shall  I do  ? ” she  con- 
(249) 


250 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


tinued,  writhing  under  the  thoughts  that  she  had  not 
uttered,  “ How  am  I to  resist  ? He  will  kill  me. 
No,  I will  kill  myself,  and  yet  that  is  a crime  ! Run 
away  ? and  my  children  ! Get  a separation  ? but 
how,  after  fifteen  years  of  marriage,  am  I to  tell  my 
father  that  I cannot  live  with  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf, 
when,  if  my  father  or  my  mother  were  to  come,  he 
would  be  quiet,  sensible,  polite,  intelligent  ? Besides, 
have  married  women  any  fathers,  or  mothers  ? They 
belong  body  and  goods,  to  their  husbands.  I was 
living  quietly,  if  not  happily,  I was  imbibing  a cer- 
tain strength  from  my  chaste  solitude,  I admit ; but, 
if  I am  deprived  of  this  negative  happiness,  I too, 
should  go  mad.  My  resistance  is  based  upon  strong 
reasons  which  are  not  personal  to  me.  Is  it  not  a 
crime  to  give  birth  to  poor  creatures  who  are  con- 
demned beforehand  to  perpetual  misery  ? And  yet, 
my  behavior  raises  such  serious  issues,  that  I cannot 
decide  them  alone  ; I am  both  judge  and  plaintiff.  I 
will  go  to  Tours  to-morrow  to  consult  the  Abbe  Birot- 
teau,  my  new  confessor ; for  my  dear,  virtuous  Abbe 
de  la  Berge  is  dead,”  she  said,  breaking  off,  “ Al- 
though he  was  strict,  I shall  always  miss  his  apos- 
tolic force  ; his  successor  is  an  angel  of  mildness, 
who  pities  instead  of  rebuking ; however,  what 
courage  would  not  be  revived  in  the  heart  of  religion  ? 
what  reason  would  not  become  fortified  at  the  voice 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  ? — My  God,”  she  continued,  dry- 
ing her  tears  and  raising  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  “ for 
what  art  Thou  punishing  me  ? But,  it  is  certain,” 
she  said,  pressing  her  fingers  upon  my  arm,  “yes, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


251 


depend  upon  it,  Felix,  we  must  pass  through  a burn- 
ing crucible  before  attaining,  holy  and  perfect,  to 
higher  spheres.  Ought  I to  be  silent  ? dost  Thou 
forbid  me,  oh  God  ! to  cry  out  in  the  bosom  of  a 
friend  ? do  I love  him  too  much  ? ” 

She  strained  me  to  her  heart,  as  if  she  were  afraid 
of  losing  me. 

“ Who  can  solve  me  these  doubts  ? My  conscience 
does  not  reproach  me  in  any  way.  The  stars  shine 
from  on  high  upon  men  ; why  should  not  the  soul, 
that  human  star,  encircle  a friend  with  its  fires, 
when  one  allows  none  but  the  purest  thoughts  to  go 
out  to  him  ? ” 

I listened  to  this  terrible  outcry  in  silence,  holding 
the  woman’s  moist  hand  in  mine,  which  was  damper 
still ; l squeezed  it  with  a force  which  Henriette  re- 
turned with  equal  force. 

“ So  you  are  here  ? ” cried  the  count,  who  was 
coming  toward  us,  his  head  bare. 

Ever  since  my  return,  he  had  obstinately  persisted 
in  joining  in  our  conversations,  either  because  he 
expected  to  get  some  amusement  out  of  them,  or 
because  he  fancied  that  the  countess  was  confiding 
her  troubles  to  me  and  sighing  on  my  breast,  or  still 
more  because  he  was  jealous  of  a pleasure  in  which 
he  did  not  participate. 

“ How  he  pursues  me  ! ” she  said  in  a tone  of 
despair,  “ let  us  go  and  see  the  vines,  then  we  shall 
escape  him.  Bend  down  along  the  hedges  so  that  he 
does  not  see  us.” 

We  sheltered  ourselves  behind  a leafy  hedge, 


252  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

gained  the  vineyard  at  a run,  and  soon  found  our- 
selves far  away  from  the  count,  in  an  alley  of  al- 
mond-trees. 

“ Dear  Henriette,”  I then  said,  pressing  her  arm 
against  my  heart  and  stopping  to  look  at  her  in  her 
distress,  “ not  long  ago  you  skilfully  guided  me 
through  the  dangerous  paths  of  society  ; let  me  give 
you  a few  hints  to  help  you  to  finish  the  duel  in 
which,  unseconded,  you  will  infallibly  succumb,  for 
you  are  not  fighting  with  the  same  weapons.  Do  not 
struggle  with  a madman — ” 

“Hush!”  she  said,  repressing  the  tears  which 
swam  in  her  eyes. 

“ Listen  to  me,  dear  one  ! After  one  hour  of  these 
conversations  that  I am  obliged  to  endure  for  your 
sake,  my  meaning  is  perverted,  my  head  is  heavy  ; 
the  count  makes  me  mistrust  my  own  intelligence, 
the  same  ideas  reiterated  imprint  themselves  in  spite 
of  myself  upon  my  brain.  Well-defined  manias  are 
not  contagious ; but,  when  madness  exists  in  the 
way  of  looking  at  things,  and  it  lurks  beneath  con- 
stant discussions,  it  may  work  havoc  upon  those 
who  live  near  it.  Your  patience  is  sublime,  but 
does  it  not  drive  you  to  degradation  ? Therefore, 
for  your  own  sake,  as  well  as  for  your  children’s, 
change  your  system  with  the  count.  Your  divine 
complaisance  has  developed  his  selfishness,  you 
have  treated  him  as  a mother  treats  a child  that 
she  spoils  ; but,  now,  if  you  want  to  live — and,” 
I said,  looking  at  her,  “you  do  want  to!  use  the 
influence  you  have  over  him.  You  know,  he  loves 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


253 


and  fears  you,  make  yourself  still  more  feared,  op- 
pose his  vague  desires  with  an  inflexible  will. 
Extend  your  power  as  he  himself  has  known  how 
to  extend  the  concessions  that  you  have  made  him, 
and  restrict  his  malady  to  a moral  sphere,  just  as 
one  confines  the  insane  in  an  asylum.” 

“ Dear  child,”  she  said,  smiling  bitterly,  “ a 
heartless  woman  only  could  play  this  role.  I am  a 
mother,  I should  make  a bad  executioner.  Yes,  I 
know  how  to  suffer,  but  to  make  others  suffer ! 
never ! ” she  said,  “ not  even  to  obtain  an  honor- 
able or  great  result.  Besides,  should  I not  have  to 
belie  my  heart,  disguise  my  voice,  harden  my  brow 
and  alter  my  gestures  ? — Do  not  ask  such  lies  of 
me.  I can  stand  between  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
and  his  children,  I will  take  his  blows  so  that  no 
one  here  shall  be  hurt ; that  is  all  I can  do  to  re- 
concile so  many  conflicting  interests.” 

“ Let  me  worship  you  ! blessed,  thrice  blessed  ! ' 

I said,  kneeling  upon  one  knee,  kissing  her  dress 
and  there  wiping  away  the  tears  that  came  to  my 
eyes, — “ But,  suppose  he  kills  you  ? ” I said. 

She  turned  pale,  and  replied  by  raising  her  eyes 
to  Heaven  : 

“ The  will  of  God  will  be  done  ! ” 

“ Do  you  know  what  the  king  said  to  your  father 
about  you  ? ‘ Then  that  devil  of  a Mortsauf  is  still 

alive  ? ' ” 

“ What  is  a joke  upon  the  king's  lips,”  she  re- 
plied, “ is  a crime  here.” 

In  spite  of  our  precautions,  the  count  had  tracked 


254 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


us  ; he  came  up  tous  all  in  a perspiration,  under  a 
walnut-tree  where  the  countess  had  stopped  to  have 
this  serious  talk  with  me  ; upon  seeing  him,  I began  to 
talk  of  the  vintage.  Had  he  any  unjust  suspicions  ? 
1 do  not  know  ; but  he  stood  without  saying  a word, 
examining  us,  paying  no  heed  to  the  dampness  ex- 
haled from  the  walnut-trees.  After  a moment  spent 
in  a few  unmeaning  words  interspersed  with  very 
significant  pauses,  the  count  said  he  felt  sick  and 
had  a headache ; he  complained  quietly,  without 
seeking  our  pity,  without  depicting  his  pains  in  ex- 
aggerated images.  We  paid  him  no  sort  of  attention. 
Upon  coming  in,  he  felt  still  worse,  spoke  about  go- 
ing to  bed,  and  went  there  without  more  ado,  with 
unusual  simplicity.  We  took  advantage  of  the  truce 
afforded  us  by  his  hypochondriacal  humor,  and  went 
down  to  our  beloved  terrace,  accompanied  by  Ma- 
deleine. 

“Let  us  go  for  a row,”  said  the  countess,  after 
a few  turns,  “ we  will  go  and  help  the  keeper  who 
is  fishing  for  us  to-day.” 

We  go  out  by  the  little  door,  gain  the  ferryboat, 
jump  into  it,  and  off  we  go,  slowly  ascending  the 
Indre.  Like  three  children  amused  at  trifles,  we 
looked  at  the  weeds  on  the  banks,  at  the  blue  or 
green  dragon-flies ; and  the  countess  wondered  at 
being  able  to  enjoy  such  tranquil  pleasures  in  the 
midst  of  her  piercing  sorrows ; but  does  not  the 
repose  of  nature,  which  moves  unheedful  of  our 
struggles,  exercise  a soothing  spell  upon  us  ? The 
restlessness  of  a love  full  of  repressed  longings 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


255 


harmonizes  with  that  of  the  water,  the  flowers  un- 
perverted by  the  hand  of  man  declare  his  most  secret 
dreams,  the  voluptuous  swaying  of  a boat  vaguely 
resembles  the  thoughts  that  float  in  the  mind.  We 
felt  the  enervating  influence  of  this  twofold  poetry. 
Words,  attuned  to  nature's  diapason,  manifested  a 
mysterious  grace,  and  looks  were  all  the  more  radi- 
ant from  partaking  of  the  sunlight  so  copiously  shed 
upon  the  shining  meadowland.  The  river  was  like 
a path  along  which  we  were  flying.  Indeed,  being 
undiverted  by  the  movement  required  in  walking, 
our  spirit  took  complete  hold  of  creation.  Was  not 
the  riotous  delight  of  a little  girl  at  large,  with  her 
graceful  gestures  and  bewitching  remarks,  also  the 
living  expression  of  two  free  souls  who  were  revel- 
ling in  making  an  ideal  construction  of  that  wonder- 
ful fabric  dreamed  of  by  Plato,  known  to  all  those 
whose  youth  was  filled  by  a happy  love  ? In  order 
to  describe  this  hour  to  you,  not  in  its  indescribable 
details,  but  in  its  entirety,  I should  tell  you  that  we 
loved  each  other  in  all  the  beings,  all  the  things 
around  us ; we  felt  all  about  us  the  happiness 
that  each  of  us  desired  ; it  penetrated  us  so  keenly, 
that  the  countess  took  off  her  gloves  and  let  her 
beautiful  hands  sink  into  the  water  as  if  to  cool 
some  secret  ardor.  Her  eyes  spoke  ; but  her  mouth, 
half  opening  like  a rose  to  the  air,  would  have  closed 
itself  to  desire.  You  know  the  harmony  of  low  and 
high  notes  perfectly  blended,  it  has  always  reminded 
me  of  the  union  of  our  two  souls  at  that  moment, 
which  can  never  occur  again. 


256  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

“ Where  do  you  fish,”  I said,  “if  you  can  only 
fish  from  your  own  banks  ? ” 

“Near  Pont-de-Ruan,”  she  said,  “ Ah  ! the  river 
now  belongs  to  us  from  Pont-de-Ruan  as  far  as 
Clochegourde.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  has  just  bought 
forty  acres  of  grassland  with  the  savings  of  the  last 
two  years  and  the  arrears  of  his  pension.  Do 
you  wonder  ? ” 

“I,  I should  like  the  whole  valley  to  belong  to 
you  ! ” I cried. 

She  answered  with  a smile.  We  arrived  below 
Pont-de-Ruan,  at  a spot  where  the  Indre  widens, 
and  where  they  were  fishing. 

“Well,  Martineau?  ” she  said. 

“ Ah  ! Madame  la  Comtesse,  we  have  no  luck.  All 
the  three  hours  that  we  have  been  here,  coming  up 
from  the  mill  here,  we  have  caught  nothing.” 

We  landed,  so  as  to  assist  in  the  last  cast  of  the 
net,  and  we  sat  down  all  three  under  the  shade  of  a 
bouillard,  a kind  of  poplar  with  a white  bark, 
which  is  found  upon  the  Danube,  the  Loire,  prob- 
ably upon  all  large  rivers,  and  which  in  springtime 
sheds  a white  silky  down,  the  outer  covering  of  its 
flower.  The  countess  had  recovered  her  dignified 
serenity  ; she  almost  repented  having  disclosed  her 
troubles  to  me  and  for  having  cried  out  like  Job,  in- 
stead of  mourning  like  a Magdalen,  a Magdalen 
without  love,  or  fetes,  or  distractions,  but  not 
without  fragrance  or  beauty.  The  net  drawn  to  her 
feet  was  full  of  fish  : tench,  barbel,  pike,  perch,  and 
an  enormous  carp  jumping  about  on  the  grass. 


ON  THE  INDRE 


“ Let  us  go  for  a row”  said  the  countess , after  a 
few  turns , “ we  will  go  and  help  the  keeper  who  is 
fishing  for  us  to-day 

We  go  out  by  the  little  door,  gain  the  ferryboat , 
jump  into  it,  and  off  we  go,  slowly  ascending  the 
Indre.  Like  three  children  amused  at  trifles,  we 
looked  at  the  weeds  on  the  banks,  at  the  blue  or 
green  dragon-flies. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


257 


4 * It  is  a miracle  ! ” said  the  keeper. 

The  workmen  opened  their  eyes  in  admiration  of 
this  woman  who  was  like  a fairy  whose  wand  had 
touched  the  nets.  Just  at  that  moment,  the  groom 
appeared,  riding  across  the  fields  at  full  gallop,  and 
put  her  into  a state  of  terrible  trepidation.  Jacques 
was  not  with  us,  and  a mother’s  first  thought,  as 
Virgil  so  poetically  says,  is  to  snatch  her  children  to 
her  breast  at  the  slightest  occasion. 

“Jacques!”  she  cried.  “Where  is  Jacques? 
What  has  happened  to  my  son?  ” 

She  did  not  love  me  ! Had  she  loved  me,  she 
would  have  had  the  same  expression  of  leonine  des- 
peration at  my  sufferings. 

“ Madame  la  Comtesse,  Monsieur  le  Comte  feels 
worse.” 

She  drew  her  breath,  and  hurried  with  me,  fol- 
lowed by  Madeleine. 

“ Come  back  slowly,”  she  said  to  me,  “ so  that 
this  dear  child  does  not  get  overheated.  You  see 
that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf’s  race  in  this  hot  weather 
threw  him  into  a perspiration,  and  his  stand  under 
the  walnut-tree  may  be  the  cause  of  a misfortune.” 

This  word,  spoken  in  the  midst  of  her  trouble, 
revealed  her  purity  of  mind. 

The  count’s  death  a misfortune  ! She  reached 
Clochegourde  rapidly,  passed  through  a breach  in 
a wall  and  crossed  the  vineyards.  I did  indeed 
return  slowly.  Henriette’s  expression  had  enlight- 
ened me,  but  just  as  does  the  lightning  which 
destroys  the  ingathered  harvests.  During  that 

17 


258 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


row  upon  the  water,  I had  thought  myself  pre- 
ferred ; I realized  bitterly  that  her  words  were 
sincere.  The  lover  who  is  not  all  is  nothing.  So  I 
loved  alone,  with  the  desires  of  a love  which  knows 
all  that  it  wants,  and  feeds  itself  in  advance  by  the 
hoped-for  caresses,  and  contents  itself  with  the 
pleasures  of  the  mind  because  with  them  it  blends 
those  which  the  future  holds  for  it.  Even  if  Hen- 
riette  loved,  she  knew  nothing  either  of  the  pleas- 
ures of  love  or  of  its  storms.  She  lived  upon  the 
sentiment  itself,  just  like  a saint  with  God.  I was 
the  object  to  which  her  thoughts  and  her  unrequited 
sensations  had  attached  themselves,  just  as  a swarm 
fastens  itself  to  some  branch  of  a flowering  tree  ; but 
I was  not  the  principle,  I was  an  accident  in  her  life, 
I was  not  her  life  itself.  A dethroned  king,  I walked 
along,  wondering  who  could  restore  to  me  my  king- 
dom. In  my  mad  jealousy,  I blamed  myself  for  not 
having  attempted  anything,  for  not  having  tightened 
the  links  of  a tenderness  which  now  seemed  to  me 
more  subtle  than  sincere,  by  the  chains  of  the  abso- 
lute right  which  possession  establishes. 


The  count’s  indisposition,  brought  on  perhaps  by 
the  chill  of  the  walnut-tree,  became  serious  in  a few 
hours.  I went  to  Tours  to  fetch  a celebrated  phy- 
sician, Monsieur  Origet,  whom  I could  not  bring 
back  until  the  evening  ; but  he  stayed  all  night  and 
all  the  next  day  at  Clochegourde.  Although  he  had 
sent  the  groom  for  a large  quantity  of  leeches,  he 
considered  an  immediate  bleeding  to  be  important, 
and  he  had  no  lancet  about  him.  I at  once  rushed 
to  Azay  in  the  most  dreadful  weather,  roused 
the  surgeon,  Monsieur  Deslandes,  and  made  him 
come  with  the  speed  of  a bird.  Ten  minutes  more 
and  the  count  would  have  succumbed  ; the  bleeding 
saved  him.  In  spite  of  this  first  success,  the  doctor 
predicted  the  most  pernicious  inflammatory  fever, 
one  of  those  illnesses  that  happen  to  people  who 
have  been  in  good  health  for  twenty  years.  The 
countess,  overcome,  thought  she  was  the  cause  of 
this  fatal  crisis.  Too  much  unnerved  to  thank  me 
for  my  attentions,  she  contented  herself  with  giving 
me  an  occasional  smile,  the  expression  of  which 
matched  the  kiss  she  had  imprinted  upon  my  hand  ; 
I would  fain  have  read  in  it  the  remorse  of  an  illicit 
(259) 


26o 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


love,  but  it  was  the  act  of  contrition  of  a repentance 
which  was  painful  to  witness  in  so  pure  a soul,  it 
was  a declaration  of  admiring  tenderness  for  a man 
she  looked  upon  as  noble,  reproaching  herself  alone 
for  an  imaginary  crime.  Most  assuredly  she  loved, 
as  Laura  de  Noves  loved 'Petrarch,  not  as  Francesca 
da  Rimini  loved  Paola : an  awful  discovery  for 

whomsoever  should  dream  of  the  union  of  both 
these  loves  ! The  countess  lay,  with  sunken  body 
and  drooping  arms,  upon  a dirty  sofa  in  this  room, 
which  was  like  a wild  boar’s  lair.  The  next  even- 
ing, before  leaving,  the  doctor  told  the  countess,  who 
had  sat  up  all  night,  to  get  a nurse.  The  illness 
would  last  a long  time. 

“ A nurse,”  she  replied,  “ no  ! no  ! We  will 
nurse  him  ! ” she  cried,  looking  at  me,  “ it  is  our 
duty  to  save  him  ! ” 

At  this  outcry,  the  doctor  glanced  at  us  searchingly, 
full  of  astonishment.  The  expression  of  this  speech 
was  calculated  to  make  him  suspect  some  frustrated 
crime.  He  promised  to  return  twice  a week,  told 
Monsieur  Deslandes  what  course  to  pursue,  and 
described  the  threatening  symptoms  that  might  re- 
quire him  to  be  summoned  from  Tours. 

In  order  to  procure  at  least  one  night’s  sleep  out  of 
every  two  for  the  countess,  I asked  her  to  let  me  watch 
the  count  by  turns  with  her.  And  so  I persuaded 
her,  not  without  difficulty,  to  go  to  bed  the  third 
night.  When  all  was  quiet  in  the  house,  during  a 
moment  when  the  count  was  dozing,  I heard  a sad 
wail  coming  from  Henriette’s  room.  My  anxiety 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  26 1 

became  so  keen,  that  I went  to  seek  her  out ; she 
was  kneeling  in  front  of  her  prie-Dieu,  dissolved  in 
tears,  and  was  accusing  herself  : 

“Oh!  God!  if  this  is  the  price  of  a murmur,” 
she  was  crying,  “ I will  never  complain  again  ! — you 
have  left  him  ! ” she  said,  perceiving  me. 

“ I heard  you  crying  and  moaning,  I was  alarmed 
about  you.” 

“ Oh  ! me,”  she  said,  “ I am  all  right ! ” 

She  wanted  to  be  sure  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
was  asleep  ; we  both  went  down,  and  by  the  light 
of  a lamp  we  both  looked  at  him  : the  count  was 
more  exhausted  by  the  quantity  of  blood  drawn  from 
him  than  overcome  by  asleep ; his  restless  hands 
were  trying  to  pull  his  cover  up  over  him. 

“ They  say  that  that  is  the  movement  of  the 
dying,”  she  said.  “ Ah  ! if  he  were  to  die  of  this  ill- 
ness that  we  have  caused,  I would  never  marry,  I 
swear  it,”  she  added,  stretching  her  hand  over  the 
count’s  head  with  a solemn  gesture. 

“ I have  done  all  I could  to  save  him,”  I said. 

“ Oh  ! you,  you  are  good,”  she  said,  “ but  I,  I 
am  the  great  sinner.” 

She  bent  down  over  the  distorted  forehead,  wiped 
away  the  perspiration  with  her  hair,  and  kissed  it 
devoutly ; but  it  was  not  without  secret  joy  that  I 
saw  she  acquitted  herself  of  this  caress  as  of  an 
atonement. 

“ Blanche,  drink  ! ” said  the  count,  faintly. 

“You  see,  he  knows  no  one  but  me,”  she  said, 
bringing  him  a glass. 


262  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

And,  by  her  accent,  by  her  affectionate  manner, 
she  sought  to  disparage  the  feelings  that  bound  us, 
by  sacrificing  them  to  the  sick  man. 

“ Henriette,”  I said,  “ go  and  rest,  I beg  of  you.” 

“ No  more  Henriette,”  she  said,  interrupting  me 
with  imperious  haste. 

“ Go  to  bed,  so  as  not  to  fall  ill.  Your  children, 
he  himself,  enjoin  you  to  take  care  of  yourself : 
there  are  occasions  when  selfishness  becomes  a sub- 
lime virtue.” 

“ Yes,”  she  said. 

She  went  away,  intrusting  her  husband  to  me 
with  gestures  that  might  have  implied  some  ap- 
proaching delirium,  had  they  not  possessed  the 
graces  of  childishness  mingled  with  the  beseeching 
force  of  repentance.  This  scene,  terrible  in  com- 
parison with  the  ordinary  state  of  this  pure  mind, 
frightened  me  : I feared  her  fanaticism  of  conscience. 
When  the  doctor  came  again,  I informed  him  of  the 
qualms — like  those  of  a startled  ermine — which  were 
stabbing  my  innocent  Henriette.  Although  discreet, 
this  confidence  dispelled  the  suspicions  of  Monsieur 
Origet,  and  he  quieted  the  excitement  of  this  noble 
mind  by  saying  that  in  any  case  the  count  would 
have  had  to  suffer  this  attack,  and  that  his  halt 
under  the  walnut-tree  had  been  more  beneficial  than 
injurious  by  determining  the  malady. 

For  fifty-two  days,  the  count  was  between  life 
and  death  ; we  each  watched  in  turn,  Henriette  and 
I,  for  twenty-six  nights. 

It  is  certain  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  owed  his 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


263 


recovery  to  our  care,  and  to  the  scrupulous  accur- 
acy with  which  we  carried  out  Monsieur  Origet's 
orders.  Like  those  philosophical  doctors  whose 
shrewd  observations  justify  them  in  doubting  all 
good  actions,  when  they  are  nothing  but  the  secret 
fulfilment  of  a duty,  this  man,  even  while  assisting 
in  the  heroic  struggle  which  was  going  on  between 
the  countess  and  me,  could  not  help  watching  us 
with  inquisitive  glances,  so  much  did  he  fear  being 
deceived  in  his  admiration. 

“ In  such  a sickness,”  he  said  to  me  at  the  time 
of  his  third  visit,  “ death  encounters  an  active 
auxiliary  in  the  mind,  when  it  happens  to  be  as 
seriously  perverted  as  is  the  count's.  The  doctor, 
the  nurse,  the  servants  who  surround  the  invalid 
hold  his  life  in  their  hands ; for  at  such  a time,  a 
single  word,  any  keen  anxiety  expressed  in  a ges- 
ture, has  the  virtue  of  poison.” 

While  speaking  to  me  in  this  way,  Origet  was 
studying  my  face  and  my  demeanor ; but  he  saw  in 
my  eyes  the  clear  expression  of  an  honest  soul. 
And  in  fact,  during  the  course  of  this  painful  illness, 
there  did  not  come  into  my  mind  the  very  faintest 
of  those  involuntary,  bad  ideas  which  sometimes 
flash  across  the  most  innocent  conscience.  To 
whomsoever  contemplates  Nature  at  large,  every- 
thing in  it  tends  to  unity  through  assimilation.  The 
moral  world  must  be  governed  by  an  analogous 
principle.  In  a pure  sphere,  all  is  pure.  With 
Henriette,  one  breathed  a heavenly  fragrance,  it 
seemed  as  if  any  dishonorable  desire  must  estrange 


264  THE  lily  of  the  valley 

one  from  her  for  ever.  Thus,  not  only  was  she 
happiness  itself,  but  virtue  also.  Finding  us  always 
equally  attentive  and  careful,  the  doctor  showed  an 
indefinable  reverence  and  tenderness  in  his  words 
and  manners  ; he  seemed  to  be  saying  to  himself  : 
“ These  are  the  real  sick,  they  hide  their  hurt  and 
forget  it ! ” 

By  a contrast  which,  according  to  this  worthy 
man,  was  sufficiently  common  with  men  who  were 
thus  impaired,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  patient, 
full  of  obedience,  never  complained  and  showed  the 
most  wonderful  docility,  he  who,  when  well,  never 
did  the  simplest  thing  without  endless  protests.  The 
cause  of  this  submission  to  medicine,  once  so 
strongly  repudiated,  was  a secret  fear  of  death,  an- 
other contradiction  in  a man  of  undeniable  courage  ! 
This  fear  might  sufficiently  account  for  several  of 
the  eccentricities  of  the  new  character  that  his  mis- 
fortunes had  given  him. 

Shall  I admit  to  you,  Natalie,  and  would  you  be- 
lieve it  ? these  fifty  days  and  the  month  which  fol- 
lowed them  were  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life. 
Is  not  love  in  the  infinite  regions  of  the  soul  like  the 
great  river  in  a beautiful  valley  to  which  the  rains, 
the  rivulets  and  torrents  all  throng,  into  which  the 
trees,  the  flowers,  the  gravel  from  the  banks  and 
the  highest  masses  of  rock  all  fall  ? It  is  as  much 
fed  by  storms  as  by  the  sluggish  tribute  of  the  clear 
springs.  Yes,  when  one  loves,  all  comes  to  love. 
The  first  great  danger  past,  the  countess  and  I be- 
came accustomed  to  the  malady.  In  spite  of  the  in- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


265 


cessant  disorder  introduced  by  the  attentions  re- 
quired by  the  count,  his  room,  which  we  had  found 
so  ill  kept,  became  clean  and  pretty.  Before  long 
we  were  in  it  like  two  beings  stranded  on  a desert 
island  ; for  misfortunes  not  only  isolate,  but  they 
silence  the  wretched  conventions  of  society.  And 
then  the  interest  of  the  sick  man  forced  points  of 
contact  upon  us  which  no  other  emergency  would 
have  authorized. 

How  often  our  hands,  before  so  timid,  met  in  ren- 
dering some  service  to  the  count ! was  I not  bound 
to  support,  to  help  Henriette  ? Often,  constrained 
by  a necessity  like  that  of  a soldier  on  sentry,  she 
would  forget  to  eat ; then  I would  serve  her,  some- 
times upon  her  knees,  with  a hasty  meal,  which 
necessitated  a thousand  little  attentions.  It  was  a 
scene  of  childhood  beside  a yawning  tomb.  She 
eagerly  bade  me  make  the  preparations  that  might 
spare  the  count  any  suffering,  and  made  use  of  me 
in  many  minor  tasks.  At  first,  when  the  intensity 
of  the  danger,  as  in  battle,  obliterated  the  subtle  dis- 
tinctions which  mark  the  events  of  everyday  life, 
she  necessarily  suspended  the  decorum  that  every 
woman,  even  the  most  unsophisticated,  observes  in 
her  words,  her  looks  and  her  demeanor  when  she 
is  in  society  or  with  her  family,  and  which  is  not 
consistent  with  undress.  Did  she  not  come  to 
wake  me  at  the  first  twitter  of  the  birds,  in  her 
morning  wrapper,  which  sometimes  allowed  me  a 
glimpse  of  the  dazzling  treasures  which,  in  my  fond 
hopes,  I looked  upon  as  mine  ? Even  while  remain- 


266 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


ing  imposing  and  proud,  could  she  not  also  be  un- 
constrained ? Moreover,  during  the  first  days,  the 
danger  so  completely  eliminated  any  impassioned 
significance  from  the  familiarity  of  our  intimate  union, 
that  she  saw  no  harm  in  it ; then,  when  reflection 
came,  she  possibly  thought  that  it  would  be  an  insult 
to  herself  as  well  as  to  me  to  change  her  ways.  In- 
sensibly we  found  ourselves  domesticated,  half  mar- 
ried. She  showed  herself  nobly  confident,  as  sure 
of  me  as  of  herself.  And  so  I penetrated  still  deeper 
into  her  heart.  The  countess  became  once  more 
my  Henriette,  Henriette  compelled  to  a greater  love 
of  him  who  strove  to  be  her  second  self.  Soon,  I 
no  longer  had  to  wait  for  her  hand,  which  was  al- 
ways irresistibly  yielded  at  the  least  entreating 
look  ; 1 was  able,  without  her  shrinking  from  view, 
to  trace  the  lines  of  her  beautiful  figure  with  in- 
toxication during  the  long  hours  in  which  we  listened 
to  the  sick  man’s  slumber.  The  slender  gratifica- 
tions we  permitted  ourselves,  the  softened  glances, 
the  words  spoken  in  a low  voice  for  fear  of  waking 
the  count,  the  fears,  the  hopes  repeated  again  and 
again,  in  short,  all  the  many  incidents  of  this  com- 
plete fusion  of  two  hearts  so  long  divided,  stand  out 
sharply  from  the  painful  gloom  of  the  actual  scene. 
We  became  thoroughly  acquainted  with  each  other’s 
souls  in  this  trial  which  often  weakens  the  strongest 
affections  which  cannot  stand  the  test  of  the  hourly 
intercourse,  and  which  drift  apart  upon  experiencing 
this  constant  cohesion  in  which  life  is  either  heavy 
or  easy  to  bear.  You  know  what  havoc  is  caused 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


267 


by  a master’s  illness,  what  interruption  to  business, 
and  how  little  time  there  is  for  everything ; the 
deadlock  in  his  life  upsets  the  action  of  his  house- 
hold and  family.  Although  everything  had  fallen 
upon  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  the  count  had  still  been 
of  some  use  outside ; he  used  to  go  and  talk  to  the 
farmers  ; visit  the  agents,  and  receive  the  funds  ; if 
she  was  the  spirit,  he  was  the  body.  I constituted 
myself  her  steward  so  that  she  might  nurse  the 
count  without  endangering  anything  out  of  doors. 
She  accepted  it  all  without  any  fuss,  without  any 
thanks.  These  joint  cares  for  the  house,  these 
orders  transmitted  in  her  name,  made  another  still 
sweeter  bond  of  union.  In  the  evenings,  I would 
often  talk  with  her,  in  her  room,  about  her  own  in- 
terests and  those  of  her  children.  These  chats  gave 
an  even  greater  semblance  to  our  ephemeral  mar- 
riage. How  greatly  Henriette  enjoyed  letting  me 
play  her  husband’s  role,  making  me  occupy  his 
place  at  table,  sending  me  to  speak  to  the  keeper ; 
and  all  in  absolute  innocence,  but  not  without  that 
secret  pleasure  which  the  most  virtuous  woman  in 
the  world  feels  in  hitting  upon  an  expedient  which 
combines  strict  compliance  with  the  laws  and  the 
gratification  of  her  unavowed  desires. 

Nullified  by  sickness,  the  count  no  longer  weighed 
upon  his  wife  or  his  household ; and  then  the 
countess  was  herself,  she  had  the  right  to  think  of 
me,  and  make  me  the  object  of  numberless  atten- 
tions. What  joy  when  I discovered  her  idea,  vague- 
ly conceived  perhaps,  but  deliciously  expressed,  of 


268 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


revealing  to  me  the  whole  worth  of  her  person  and 
qualities,  of  making  me  observe  the  change  that  was 
produced  in  her  if  she  were  understood ! This 
flower,  incessantly  closed  in  the  chill  atmosphere  of 
her  home,  expanded  under  my  glances,  and  for  me 
alone  ; she  took  as  much  delight  in  unfolding  herself 
as  I felt  at  looking  upon  her  with  the  eager  eyes  of 
love.  She  proved  to  me  in  all  the  details  of  life, 
how  much  1 was  in  her  mind.  The  day  upon  which, 
after  having  spent  the  night  at  the  invalid’s  bed- 
side, I slept  late,  Henriette  got  up  early,  before 
everyone,  and  established  the  most  absolute  silence 
around  me  ; without  being  told,  Jacques  and  Made- 
leine played  at  a distance  ; she  employed  a thousand 
wiles  in  order  to  acquire  the  right  to  lay  the  table 
for  me  herself ; and  then,  she  waited  upon  me,  with 
what  sparkling  delight  in  her  movements,  what  shy, 
swallow-like  delicacy,  what  blushes,  what  quivers 
in  the  voice,  what  lynx-like  subtlety  ! 

These  expansions  of  the  soul  speak  for  them- 
selves ! She  was  often  overcome  with  fatigue  ; but, 
if  by  any  chance  in  these  moments  of  weariness  it 
was  a question  of  myself,  for  me  as  for  her  chil- 
dren she  would  muster  up  fresh  strength,  and  would 
start  up  agile,  eager  and  glad.  How  she  loved  to 
radiate  her  tenderness  around  ! Ah  ! Natalie,  yes, 
there  are  women  here  below  who  share  the  privileges 
of  angelic  spirits,  and  like  them  diffuse  that  light 
which  Saint-Martin,  the  Mysterious  Philosopher, 
described  as  intelligent,  musical  and  fragrant.  Hen- 
riette, sure  of  my  discretion,  took  delight  in  raising 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


269 


the  heavy  curtain  that  hides  the  future  from  us,  by 
showing  me  the  two  women  within  her : the  en- 
slaved woman  who  had  fascinated  me  in  spite  of  her 
rebuffs,  and  the  free  woman  whose  sweetness  was  to 
immortalize  my  love.  What  a contrast ! Madame 
de  Mortsauf  was  the  Bengaly  transported  to  chilly 
Europe,  sadly  seated  upon  its  perch,  mute  and  pin- 
ing in  the  cage  to  which  it  is  confined  by  the 
naturalist ; Henriette  was  the  same  bird  singing  its 
oriental  poems  in  its  grove  beside  the  Ganges,  and, 
like  a living  jewel,  flying  from  branch  to  branch 
amid  the  roses  of  an  immense  flowering  volkameria. 
Her  beauty  increased,  her  spirit  revived.  This  con- 
tinual rejoicing  was  a secret  between  our  two  souls, 
for  Henriette  dreaded  the  eye  of  the  Abbe  de  Dominis, 
that  representative  of  society,  far  more  than  she  did 
that  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf ; but,  like  me,  she 
took  great  pleasure  in  giving  ingenious  turns  to  her 
thoughts  ; she  hid  her  happiness  under  pleasantry, 
and  also  disguised  the  evidences  of  fondness  under 
the  bright  canopy  of  gratitude. 

“We  have  put  your  friendship  to  severe  tests, 
Felix ! We  can  surely  allow  him  the  licence  we 
give  to  Jacques,  monsieur  Tabbe?  ” she  would  say 
at  table. 

The  stern  abbe  would  answer  her  with  the  kindly 
smile  of  the  holy  man  who  reads  within  the  heart 
and  finds  it  pure  ; moreover,  he  felt  for  the  countess 
all  the  respect  mingled  with  adoration  that  the 
angels  inspire.  Twice,  in  these  fifty  days,  the 
countess  may  have  encroached  upon  the  limits  to 


270 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


which  our  affection  was  confined ; but  even  then 
these  two  incidents  were  enwrapped  in  a mist  that 
never  rose  until  the  day  of  supreme  avowal.  One 
morning,  in  the  early  days  of  the  count’s  sickness, 
just  as  she  was  repenting  having  treated  me  so  se- 
verely by  withdrawing  the  innocent  privileges  ac- 
corded to  my  chaste  tenderness,  I was  waiting  for 
her,  she  was  to  take  my  place.  Overtired,  I had 
fallen  asleep,  with  my  head  against  the  wall.  1 was 
suddenly  wakened  by  feeling  my  forehead  touched 
by  something  indescribably  cool  which  gave  me  a 
sensation  as  if  a rose  had  been  laid  upon  it.  I saw 
the  countess  three  feet  away  from  me,  and  she 
said  : am  here.” 

I went  off ; but,  in  wishing  her  good  morning,  I 
took  her  hand,  and  felt  that  it  was  moist  and  trem- 
bling. 

“ Are  you  suffering?  ” I said. 

“ Why  do  you  ask  me  that?  ” she  inquired. 

I looked  at  her,  blushing,  confused. 

“ 1 was  dreaming,”  I replied. 

One  evening,  during  the  last  visits  of  Monsieur 
Origet,  who  had  positively  proclaimed  the  count’s 
convalescence,  I happened  to  be  under  the  porch 
with  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  where  we  were  all 
three  lounging  on  the  steps,  absorbed  in  the  atten- 
tion required  by  a game  of  spellicans  which  we  were 
playing  with  straw  stems  and  hooks  charged  with 
pins.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  asleep.  While 
waiting  for  the  carriage,  the  doctor  and  the  coun- 
tess were  talking  in  low  tones  in  the  salon.  Mon- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


271 


sieur  Origet  left  without  my  noticing  his  depar- 
ture. After  having  seen  him  off,  Henriette  leaned 
out  of  the  window,  from  where  she  contemplated  us 
some  little  time  doubtless,  unknown  to  us.  It  was 
one  of  those  hot  evenings  in  which  the  sky  assumes 
a coppery  tint,  and  the  country  echoes  with  a multi- 
tude of  confused  sounds.  A last  ray  of  sunlight  was 
fading  on  the  housetops,  the  flowers  in  the  garden 
were  scenting  the  breezes,  the  bells  of  the  cattle 
being  driven  to  the  stables  resounded  in  the  distance. 
We  fell  in  with  the  silence  of  this  balmy  hour  by 
hushing  our  cries,  for  fear  of  waking  the  count.  Sud- 
denly, in  spite  of  the  fluttering  sound  of  a dress,  I 
heard  the  inarticulate  contraction  of  a violently 
stifled  sigh  ; I rushed  into  the  salon,  there  I saw  the 
countess  seated  in  an  embrasure  of  the  window,  a 
handkerchief  to  her  face ; she  recognized  my  step, 
and  made  an  imperious  gesture  to  order  me  to  leave 
her  alone.  I came,  my  heart  pierced  with  anxiety, 
and  tried  to  remove  her  handkerchief  by  force,  her 
face  was  bathed  in  tears  ; she  fled  to  her  room,  and 
only  left  it  for  prayers.  For  the  first  time  in  fifty 
days,  I led  her  out  upon  the  terrace,  and  demanded 
the  reason  of  her  emotion  ; but  she  assumed  the 
wildest  gayety  and  accounted  for  it  by  the  good 
news  Origet  had  given  her. 

“ Henriette,  Henriette/’  I said,  “ you  knew  that 
when  I saw  you  crying.  Between  us  two,  a lie 
would  be  a monstrosity.  Why  did  you  prevent  me 
from  wiping  away  those  tears  ? Were  they  then 
connected  with  me  ? ” 


272  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

“ I thought, ” she  said,  “that,  for  me,  this  illness 
had  been  like  a halt  in  sorrow.  Now  I no  longer 
tremble  for  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  I tremble  for  my- 
self. ” 

She  was  right.  The  count’s  recovery  manifested 
itself  in  a return  to  his  capricious  humor ; he  began 
to  say  that  neither  his  wife,  nor  I,  nor  the  doctor, 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  him,  that  we  were  all 
ignorant  both  of  his  malady  and  his  temperament, 
of  his  sufferings  and  the  suitable  remedies.  Origet, 
infatuated  by  I know  not  what  doctrine,  saw  a di- 
minution in  the  humors,  whereas  he  ought  only  to 
attend  to  the  pylorus.  One  day,  he  looked  at  us 
maliciously  like  one  who  had  watched  us  or  else 
found  us  out,  and  he  said  smiling  to  his  wife  : 

“ Well,  my  dear,  had  I died,  you  would  have  re- 
gretted me,  no  doubt ; but,  confess,  you  would  have 
resigned  yourself — ” 

“ I should  have  worn  court  mourning,  pink  and 
black,”  she  replied,  laughing,  so  as  to  silence  her 
husband. 

But  there  arose,  particularly  in  regard  to  the  food, 
which  the  doctor  had  wisely  limited,  objecting  to  the 
convalescent’s  hunger  being  satisfied,  scenes  of 
violence  and  clamors  which  could  be  compared  to 
nothing  in  the  past,  for  the  count’s  temper  appeared 
to  be  all  the  more  terrible,  in  that  it  had  been  lying 
dormant,  so  to  speak.  Fortified  by  the  doctor’s 
orders  and  the  obedience  of  her  servants  ; prompted 
by  me,  who  saw  in  this  struggle  the  means  of  teach- 
ing her  to  exercise  her  authority  over  her  husband. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


273 


the  countess  nerved  herself  to  resistance  ; she  learned 
how  to  encounter  frenzy  and  shrieks  with  an  un- 
ruffled brow ; taking  him  for  what  he  was,  a child, 
she  became  used  to  hearing  his  insulting  epithets. 
I was  glad  to  see  her  at  last  understanding  the  man- 
agement of  this  morbid  spirit.  The  count  protested, 
but  he  obeyed,  and  he  was  particularly  obedient 
after  having  made  a great  outcry.  In  spite  of  the 
evidence  of  the  results,  Henriette  sometimes  wept  at 
the  sight  of  this  poor,  feeble  old  man,  with  a fore- 
head yellower  than  the  falling  leaf,  with  faded  eyes, 
and  trembling  hands  ; she  accused  herself  of  sever- 
ity, and  she  could  not  often  resist  the  joy  she  saw 
in  the  count’s  eyes  when,  in  measuring  out  his 
meals,  she  exceeded  the  doctor’s  orders.  She  also 
showed  more  gentleness  and  graciousness  to  him  than 
she  had  to  me ; yet  there  were  distinctions  which 
filled  my  heart  with  boundless  joy.  She  was  not 
indefatigable,  she  knew  when  to  call  her  servants  to 
wait  upon  the  count  when  his  caprices  followed  one 
upon  another  a little  too  rapidly  and  when  he  com- 
plained of  not  being  understood. 

The  countess  wished  to  go  and  give  thanks  to 
God  for  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf’s  recovery,  she  caused 
mass  to  be  said  and  asked  me  to  give  her  my  arm  to 
go  to  church  ; I took  her  there  ; but,  all  the  time  the 
mass  lasted,  I went  to  call  upon  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame de  Chessel.  On  our  return,  she  tried  to  scold 
me. 

“ Henriette,”  I said,  “ I am  incapable  of  hypo- 
crisy. I can  jump  into  the  water  to  save  my  drown- 
18 


274 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


ing  enemy,  give  him  my  cloak  so  as  to  warm  him  ; 
in  fact,  I could  forgive  him,  but  I should  never  forget 
the  offence/ ' 

She  was  silent,  and  pressed  my  arm  to  her  heart. 

“ You  are  an  angel,  you  could  not  help  being  sin- 
cere in  your  acts  of  grace,”  I continued,  “ the 
mother  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  was  saved  from  the 
hands  of  a furious  populace  who  wanted  to  kill  her, 
and,  when  the  queen  asked  her  * what  were  you 
doing  ? ’ she  replied  : 4 1 was  praying  for  them  ! ’ 
Women  are  like  this.  I,  I am  a man  and  conse- 
quently imperfect.” 

“ Do  not  libel  yourself,”  she  said,  shaking  my 
arm  violently,  “ perhaps  you  are  better  than  I am.” 

“ Yes,”  I rejoined,  “for  I would  sacrifice  eter- 
nity for  a single  day’s  happiness,  and  you  ! — ” 

“ And  1 ? ” she  said,  looking  at  me  proudly. 

I held  my  tongue  and  bent  my  eyes  to  avoid  her 
withering  glance. 

“ I ! ” she  repeated,  “of  what  / do  you  speak  ? 
I feel  a great  many  / ’s  within  me  ! ‘These  two  chil- 
dren,” she  added,  pointing  to  Madeleine  and  Jac- 
ques, “are  I’s.  Felix,”  she  said  in  heartrending 
accents,  “ do  you  then  think  me  selfish  ? Do  you 
think  that  I could  sacrifice  all  eternity  to  reward  him 
who  sacrifices  his  life  for  me  ? This  is  a horrible 
thought,  it  must  always  clash  with  the  senti- 
ments of  religion.  Can  a woman  so  fallen  ever 
recover  ? Can  her  happiness  absolve  her  ? You 
compel  me  to  decide  these  questions  at  once  ! — 
Yes,  I will  at  last  entrust  you  with  a secret  belong- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


275 


ing  to  my  private  thoughts ; this  idea  has  often 
troubled  my  mind,  I have  often  atoned  for  it  by 
severe  penances,  it  was  the  cause  of  those  tears 
that  you  asked  me  about  the  day  before  yesterday.’ 1 
“ Do  you  not  attach  too  much  importance  to  cer- 
tain things  that  ordinary  women  value  very  highly, 
and  that  you  ought — ? ” 

“ Oh  ! ” she  said,  interrupting  me,  “ do  you  at- 
tach any  less  to  them  ? ” 

This  logic  put  an  end  to  all  argument. 

“Well,  then,”  she  continued,  “listen  to  this  ! 
Yes,  I should  have  been  cowardly  enough  to  desert 
this  poor  old  man  whose  life  I am  ! But,  my  friend, 
these  two  little,  feeble  creatures  who  are  in  front  of 
us,  Madeleine  and  Jacques,  should  they  not  stay 
with  their  father  ? Well,  do  you  believe,  I ask  you, 
do  you  believe  that  they  would  live  three  months 
under  the  insane  dominion  of  this  man  ? If,  in  fail- 
ing in  my  duties,  it  were  only  a question  of  my- 
self— ” — She  broke  into  a superb  smile — “But 
would  it  not  be  killing  my  two  children  ? Their 
death  would  be  certain.  My  God!”  she  cried, 
“why  do  we  speak  of  such  things  ? Marry,  and 
leave  me  to  die  ! ” 

She  said  these  words  in  so  bitter,  so  deep  a tone, 
that  she  stifled  my  rebellious  passion. 

“ You  cried  out,  up  there,  under  that  walnut- 
tree  ; I have  just  cried  out  under  these  alders,  that 
is  all.  I shall  be  silent  in  future.” 

“ Your  generosity  is  killing  me,”  she  said,  raising 
her  eyes  to  Heaven. 


276 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


We  had  reached  the  terrace,  and  there  we  found 
the  count  seated  in  an  armchair,  in  the  sun.  The 
sight  of  this  shrunken  face,  hardly  animated  by  a 
feeble  smile,  quenched  the  flames  that  had  leaped 
from  the  embers.  1 leaned  upon  the  balustrade,  con- 
templating the  picture  presented  by  this  dying  man, 
between  his  two  sickly  children,  and  his  wife,  pale 
from  the  night-watches,  wasted  by  excessive  toil,  by 
the  anxieties  and  maybe  the  joys  of  these  two  ter- 
rible months,  but  whose  color  was  now  tremen- 
dously heightened  by  the  emotions  of  this  scene. 
At  the  sight  of  this  suffering  family,  framed  in  flick- 
ering leaves  through  which  the  gray  light  of  a 
cloudy  autumn  sky  was  peeping,  I felt  the  links 
which  bind  the  body  to  the  soul  loosening  within  me. 
For  the  first  time,  I experienced  that  moral  spleen 
which,  they  say,  is  felt  by  the  stoutest  wrestlers  in 
the  height  of  their  contests,  a species  of  dispas- 
sionate insanity  which  makes  a coward  of  the 
bravest  man,  a fanatic  of  an  unbeliever,  which 
produces  indifference  to  everything,  even  to  the 
most  vital  sentiments,  to  honor,  to  love ; for 
doubt  deprives  us  of  knowledge  of  ourselves,  and 
sickens  us  of  life.  Poor  nervous  creatures  whose 
wealth  of  organization  delivers  defenceless  to  I know 
not  what  fatal  spirit,  where  are  your  peers  and  your 
judges  ? I understand  how  the  young  dare-devil 
who  was  already  stretching  forth  his  hand  upon  the 
baton  of  the  marshals  of  France,  as  much  a skilful 
negotiator  as  an  intrepid  captain,  had  been  able  to 
become  the  innocent  assassin  that  I was  contempla- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


277 


ting ! Could  my  desires,  to-day  enwreathed  with 
roses,  have  such  an  end  in  view  ? Horrified  by  the 
cause  as  much  as  by  the  effect,  asking,  like  the  im- 
pious, whether  there  were  any  Providence  here 
below,  I could  not  hold  back  two  tears  which  rolled 
down  my  cheeks. 

“ Dear  Felix,  what  is  the  matter  ? ” said  Made- 
leine in  her  childish  voice. 

Then  Henriette  completed  the  dispersion  of  these 
dark  vapors  and  gloomy  thoughts  by  a look  of  solici- 
tude which  flooded  my  soul  like  the  sunlight.  Just 
at  that  moment,  the  old  groom  brought  me  a letter 
from  Tours,  the  sight  of  which  wrung  from  me  an 
indescribable  cry  of  surprise,  and  which  had  the 
result  of  setting  Madame  de  Mortsauf  in  a tremble. 
I saw  the  seal  of  the  cabinet,  the  king  recalled  me. 
I held  the  letter  out  to  her,  she  read  it  at  a glance. 

“ He  is  going  ! ” said  the  count. 

“ What  will  become  of  me  ? ” she  said,  for  the 
first  time  foreseeing  her  sunless  desert. 

We  stood  in  a stupor  of  thought  which  oppressed 
us  all  equally,  for  we  had  never  so  thoroughly  real- 
ized that  we  were  all  necessary  to  one  another.  The 
countess,  in  talking  to  me  on  all  subjects,  even  the 
most  insignificant,  had  a new  sound  in  her  voice,  as 
if  the  instrument  had  lost  several  strings,  and  that 
the  others  had  relaxed.  Her  gestures  were  apa- 
thetic and  her  eyes  dull.  I begged  her  to  tell  me 
her  thoughts. 

“ Have  I any  ? ” she  said. 

She  dragged  me  into  her  room,  made  me  sit  down 


278 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


on  her  couch,  rummaged  in  the  drawer  of  her  dress- 
ing-table, knelt  down  before  me  and  said  : 

“ Here  is  the  hair  that  I have  been  losing  for  a 
year,  take  it,  it  is  indeed  yours,  one  day  you  will 
know  how  and  why.” 

I stooped  slowly  toward  her  forehead,  she  did  not 
bend  down  to  avoid  my  lips,  I pressed  them  rever- 
ently, without  sinful  intoxication,  or  excitable  de- 
light, but  with  solemn  tenderness.  Did  she  wish  to 
sacrifice  everything  ? Or  was  she  only  going,  as  I 
had  done,  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  ? Had  love 
induced  her  to  surrender  herself,  she  would  not  have 
had  this  profound  composure,  this  devout  expression, 
and  she  would  not  have  said  to  me  in  her  pure 
voice  : 

“You  are  not  angry  with  me  ? ” 

I left  at  nightfall,  she  insisted  upon  accompanying 
me  as  far  as  the  road  to  Frapesle,  and  we  stopped  at 
the  walnut-tree  ; I pointed  it  out  to  her,  telling  her 
how,  from  there,  I had  seen  her  four  years  before. 

“ The  valley  was  very  lovely  ! ” I cried. 

“ And  now  ? ” she  rejoined  eagerly. 

“You  are  under  the  walnut-tree,”  I said,  “and 
the  valley  is  ours.” 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  we  said  good-bye  there. 
She  got  up  again  into  her  carriage  with  Madeleine, 
and  I into  mine,  alone. 


On  my  return  to  Paris,  I was  fortunately  absorbed 
by  pressing  labors  which  afforded  me  violent  dis- 
traction and  forced  me  to  shun  society,  which  forgot 
me.  I corresponded  with  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  to 
whom  I sent  my  journal  every  week,  and  who  an- 
swered me  twice  a month.  An  obscure,  full  life, 
like  those  luxuriant,  flowering  and  secret  spots, 
that  I had  but  lately  admired  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods  while  composing  fresh  poems  of  flowers  dur- 
ing the  two  last  weeks. 

Oh  ! You  who  love  ! tax  yourselves  with  these 
glorious  obligations,  undertake  to  carry  out  rules, 
just  like  those  with  which  the  Church  has  provided 
Christians  for  every  day.  Those  are  grand  concep- 
tions, the  strict  observances  instituted  by  the  Roman 
religion,  they  always  score  the  soul  still  deeper  with 
the  furrows  of  duty  by  the  repetition  of  acts  which 
maintain  both  hope  and  fear.  Feelings  always  flow 
strong  in  these  hollowed  streams  which  restrain  the 
waters,  purifying  them,  incessantly  refreshing  the 
heart,  and  fertilizing  the  life  by  the  abundant 
treasures  of  a hidden  faith,  a divine  source  at  which 
the  unique  thought  of  a unique  love  renews  itself. 
(279) 


280 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


My  passion,  which  revived  the  Middle  Ages  and 
recalled  chivalry,  was  known  I know  not  how ; per- 
haps the  king  and  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  talked 
about  it.  From  this  exalted  sphere,  the  both  roman- 
tic and  simple  story  of  a young  man  who  religiously 
worshipped  a beautiful  woman  without  notoriety, 
strong  in  her  solitude,  faithful  without  the  support 
of  duty,  was  no  doubt  spread  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  In  the  salons,  I 
found  myself  the  object  of  embarrassing  attention, 
for  a humble  life  has  advantages  which,  once  ex- 
perienced, make  the  display  of  a constant  mise-en- 
scene  unbearable.  Just  as  eyes  accustomed  to  see- 
ing nothing  but  quiet  hues  are  hurt  by  broad  day- 
light, so  are  there  certain  spirits  that  are  annoyed 
by  violent  contrasts.  I was  like  that  then  ; you 
may  wonder  at  that  to-day  ; but  have  patience,  the 
eccentricities  of  the  present  Vandenesse  will  be  ac- 
counted for.  And  so  I found  the  women  kind  and 
society  perfect  toward  me.  After  the  marriage  of 
the  Due  de  Berri,,  the  Court  resumed  its  magnifi- 
cence and  the  French  f£tes*  revived.  Foreign  occu- 
pation had  ceased,  prosperity  was  reappearing, 
gayeties  were  possible.  Persons  celebrated  for  their 
rank,  or  noted  for  their  wealth,  from  all  points  of 
Europe  crowded  the  capital  of  intelligence  where  are 
to  be  found  all  the  advantages  of  other  countries  as 
well  as  their  vices,  magnified  and  stimulated  by 
French  ingenuity. 

Five  months  after  having  left  Clochegourde,  in 
the  middle  of  winter,  my  good  angel  wrote  me  a des- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  28 1 

perate  letter,  telling  me  about  the  serious  illness  of 
her  son,  from  which  he  had  recovered,  but  which 
left  anxiety  for  the  future  ; the  doctor  had  spoken  of 
precautions  to  be  taken  about  the  chest,  an  awful 
word,  which,  when  uttered  by  science,  darkens  all  a 
mother’s  moments. 

Hardly  had  Henriette  begun  to  breathe  more 
freely,  hardly  had  Jacques  reached  convalescence, 
when  his  sister  inspired  alarm.  Madeleine,  that 
pretty  blossom  which  flourished  so  well  under  the 
maternal  care,  passed  through  a crisis  which  was 
forestalled,  but  which  was  terrible  for  so  frail  a con- 
stitution. Already  dispirited  by  the  fatigues  of 
Jacques’s  long  illness,  the  countess  found  herself 
without  courage  to  support  this  fresh  blow,  and  the 
spectacle  presented  by  these  two  beloved  beings 
rendered  her  insensible  to  the  redoubled  torments  of 
her  husband’s  temper.  Thus  the  bitter  waves  of 
more  and  more  distressful  sand-laden  storms  were 
undermining  the  most  deeply-rooted  hopes  of  her 
heart.  Besides,  she  had  abandoned  herself  to  the 
tyranny  of  the  count,  who,  weary  of  war,  had  re- 
gained his  lost  ground. 

“ When  my  whole  strength  was  gathered  round 
my  children,”  she  wrote,  “ could  I employ  it  against 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  and  could  I defend  myself 
from  his  aggressions  whilst  fighting  against  death  ? 
Walking  to-day,  alone  and  enfeebled,  between  the 
two  little  mourners  who  accompany  me,  I am  seized 
with  an  irrepressible  disgust  of  life.  What  blow 
can  I feel,  to  what  affection  can  I respond,  when  I 


282 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


see  Jacques  motionless  upon  the  terrace,  with  no 
sign  of  life  except  in  his  two  beautiful  eyes,  enlarged 
by  emaciation,  hollow  as  an  old  man’s,  and,  fatal 
omen ! whose  precocious  intelligence  is  in  such  con- 
trast with  his  bodily  weakness  ? When  1 see  this 
pretty  Madeleine  beside  me,  so  lively,  so  tender,  so 
glowing,  now  as  white  as  the  dead,  her  very  hair 
and  eyes  seem  to  me  to  have  faded,  she  turns  her 
drooping  gaze  upon  me  as  if  she  were  trying  to  bid 
me  farewell ; no  dish  tempts  her,  or,  if  she  wants 
food,  she  frightens  me  with  the  strangeness  of  her 
fancies ; the  honest  little  thing,  although  reared  in 
my  bosom,  blushes  in  confiding  them  to  me.  In 
spite  of  my  efforts,  I cannot  amuse  my  children  ; 
each  one  smiles  at  me,  but  this  smiie  is  wrung  from 
them  by  my  blandishments,  and  is  not  spontaneous  ; 
they  cry  at  not  being  able  to  return  my  caresses. 
Suffering  has  relaxed  everything  about  them,  even 
the  ties  which  bind  us.  Thus  you  will  understand 
how  dreary  it  is  at  Clochegourde ; Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  reigns  unchecked.” 

Oh  ! my  friend,  you,  my  pride ! ” she  wrote 
further  on,  “ you  must  indeed  love  to  be  able  to  love 
me  still,  to  love  me  inert,  thankless  and  petrified  by 
misery ! ” 

Just  then,  when  I had  never  felt  my  pity  more 
keenly  moved,  and  when  I only  existed  in  this  soul 
to  whom  I was  trying  to  waft  the  clear  breeze  of  the 
mornings  in  anticipation  of  the  empurpled  evenings, 
I met  in  the  salons  of  the  Elysee-Bourbon  one  of 
those  illustrious  ladies  who  are  half  sovereigns. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


283 


Immense  riches,  descent  from  a family  which  from 
the  Conquest  had  been  guiltless  of  any  mesalliance, 
marriage  with  one  of  the  most  distinguished  old  men 
of  the  English  peerage,  all  these  advantages  were 
but  accessories  which  enhanced  the  beauty  of  her 
person,  her  charms,  her  manner?,  her  intelligence, 
an  indescribable  brilliancy  which  dazzled  before  fas- 
cinating. She  was  the  idol  of  the  day,  and  she 
reigned  all  the  better  over  Parisian  society,  in  that 
she  possessed  the  qualities  necessary  to  success,  the 
iron  hand  beneath  a velvet  glove  spoken  of  by 
Bernadotte.  You  know  the  strange  personality  of 
the  English,  that  proud  impassable  Strait,  that  chilly 
Saint-George’s  Channel  which  they  put  between 
themselves  and  the  people  who  have  not  been  intro- 
duced to  them  ; humanity  seems  to  be  an  ant-hill 
upon  which  they  tread ; of  their  kind  they  only 
know  those  whom  they  receive ; as  for  the  others, 
they  do  not  even  understand  their  language  ; there 
are  indeed  lips  which  move  and  eyes  which  see,  but 
no  sound  or  look  affects  them  : for  them,  these 
people  are  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

In  this  way  the  English  are,  as  it  were,  an  image 
of  their  island,  where  the  law  regulates  everything, 
and  where  all  is  uniform  in  every  sphere,  and  the 
exercise  of  virtue  seems  to  be  the  unavoidable  work- 
ing of  a machinery  which  moves  at  a given  time. 
The  polished  steel  fortifications  erected  round  an 
Englishwoman,  caged  in  her  home  by  threads  of 
gold,  but  in  which  her  manger  and  her  drinking-place, 
her  perches  and  her  pasture  are  marvels,  lend  her 


284 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


irresistible  attraction.  Never  has  a nation  better 
paved  the  way  for  the  married  woman’s  hypocrisy 
by  placing  her  at  every  turn  between  death  and 
the  social  life  ; for  her,  there  is  no  medium  between 
shame  and  honor  : the  fault  is  either  complete,  or  it 
is  not ; it  is  all  or  nothing,  the  to  be,  or  not  to  be, 
of  Hamlet.  This  alternative,  added  to  the  constant 
scorn  to  which  habit  has  accustomed  her,  makes  the 
Englishwoman  a distinct  being  in  the  world.  She 
is  a poor  creature,  virtuous  by  compulsion  and  ready 
to  become  depraved,  condemned  to  perpetual  false- 
hood buried  deep  in  her  heart,  but  delicious  in 
method,  because  this  nation  reduces  everything  to 
method.  Hence  the  beauties  peculiar  to  the  women 
of  this  country  : this  exaltation  of  an  affection  in 
which  for  them  life  is  necessarily  summed  up,  the 
exaggeration  of  their  solicitude  for  themselves,  the 
delicacy  of  their  love  so  gracefully  depicted  in  the 
famous  scene  from  Romeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  Shake- 
speare’s genius  has  with  one  stroke  described  the 
Englishwoman.  To  you  who  envy  them  so  many 
things,  what  can  I tell  you  that  you  do  not  know 
about  these  fair  sirens,  apparently  so  inscrutable  and 
so  soon  fathomed,  who  fancy  that  love  is  sufficient 
for  love,  and  who  infuse  depression  into  pleasure 
by  never  varying  it,  whose  mind  has  but  one  note, 
whose  voice  has  but  one  syllable,  an  ocean  of  love  in 
which  whosoever  has  not  swum  will  ever  ignore 
something  of  the  poetry  of  the  senses,  just  as  he 
who  has  never  seen  the  sea  will  have  so  many 
strings  the  less  to  his  lyre  ? You  know  the  reason 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


285 


of  these  words.  My  intrigue  with  the  Marquise 
Dudley  was  of  fatal  notoriety.  At  an  age  in  which 
the  senses  exercise  so  much  influence  over  our  re- 
solves, in  a young  man  in  whom  their  ardors  had 
been  so  violently  repressed,  the  image  of  the  saint 
who  was  suffering  her  slow  martyrdom  at  Cloche- 
gourde  shone  so  brightly,  that  I was  able  to  resist 
all  seductions.  This  fidelity  was  the  lustre  which 
drew  the  Lady  Arabella’s  attention  to  me.  My 
resistance  stimulated  her  passion.  What  she  de- 
sired, as  do  a great  many  Englishwomen,  was  eclat, 
unconventionality.  She  wanted  pepper,  some 
pimento  for  the  sustenance  of  the  heart,  in  the 
same  way  as  the  English  like  fiery  sauces  to  tickle 
their  palates.  The  atony  which  is  brought  into  the 
existence  of  these  women  by  an  invariable  finality 
in  things,  and  a methodical  regularity  in  the  habits, 
leads  them  to  the  worship  of  the  romantic  and  im- 
possible. I did  not  know  how  to  judge  this  char- 
acter. The  more  I retreated  in  cold  disdain,  the 
more  Lady  Dudley  became  enamored.  This  struggle 
in  which  she  gloried,  excited  the  curiosity  of  cer- 
tain circles,  it  was  her  first  happiness  which  made  it 
a matter  of  pride  to  triumph.  Ah  ! I should  have 
been  saved,  had  some  friend  repeated  to  me  the 
atrocious  remark  she  dropped  about  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  and  myself : 

“ I am  sick  of  these  turtledove  sighings  ! ” she  said. 

Without  wishing  now  to  justify  my  guilt,  I would 
remind  you,  Natalie,  that  a man  possesses  fewer 
resources  for  resisting  a woman  than  you  have  for 


286 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


evading  our  pursuit.  Our  manners  forbid  to  our 
sex  the  brutalities  of  the  repression  which,  with 
you,  are  attractions  to  a lover,  and  which,  moreover, 
etiquette  demands  of  you  ; amongst  us,  on  the  con- 
trary, I know  not  what  law  of  masculine  fatuity 
ridicules  our  reserve ; we  leave  the  monopoly  of 
modesty  to  you  so  that  you  may  have  the  privilege 
of  granting  favors  ; but  invert  the  roles,  and  man 
succumbs  beneath  derision.  Although  guarded  by 
my  passion,  1 was  not  of  an  age  that  remains  in- 
sensible to  the  triple  allurements  of  pride,  devotion 
and  beauty.  When  Lady  Arabella,  in  the  midst  of 
a ball  of  which  she  was  the  queen,  laid  the  homage 
that  she  received  at  my  feet,  and  when  she  watched 
for  my  look  to  know  whether  her  toilette  was  to 
my  liking,  and  thrilled  with  delight  when  she  pleased 
me,  I was  moved  by  her  emotion.  Moreover,  she 
stood  upon  ground  where  I could  not  escape  her ; it 
was  difficult  for  me  to  refuse  certain  invitations  is- 
sued by  the  diplomatic  circle  ; all  salons  were  open 
to  her  on  account  of  her  rank,  and  with  that  skill 
that  women  exert  in  order  to  obtain  what  they 
please,  she  made  the  mistress  of  the  house  put  her 
next  to  me  at  table  ; then  she  would  whisper  in  my 
ear. 

“ If  I were  loved  as  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is/'  she 
would  say  to  me,  “ I would  give  up  everything  for 
you.” 

She  would  laughingly  submit  the  humblest  condi- 
tions to  me,  she  would  promise  me  the  most  faith- 
ful secrecy,  or  would  ask  me  to  suffer  her  only  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


287 


love  me.  One  day,  she  said  these  words  which 
satisfied  all  the  compromises  between  a scrupulous 
conscience  and  a youth’s  frantic  desires  : 

“Your  friend  always,  and  your  mistress  when- 
ever you  wish  ! ” 

Finally,  she  contemplated  making  use  of  my  very 
loyalty  of  character  to  effect  my  ruin,  she  bribed  my 
valet,  and,  after  a reception  at  which  she  had 
appeared  so  beautiful  that  she  was  sure  of  having 
excited  my  desires,  I found  her  in  my  rooms. 

This  scandal  made  a great  stir  in  England,  and 
her  aristocracy  was  as  much  dismayed  as  Heaven 
over  the  fall  of  its  brightest  angel.  Lady  Dudley 
quitted  her  cloud  in  the  Britannic  Empyrean,  kept 
within  her  income,  and,  by  her  sacrifices,  tried  to 
eclipse  her  whose  virtue  had  caused  this  memorable 
disaster.  Lady  Arabella  delighted,  like  the  demon 
from  the  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  in  showing  me  the 
richest  areas  of  her  ardent  kingdom. 

Read  this  with  indulgence,  I implore  you.  This 
* bears  upon  one  of  the  most  interesting  problems  of 
human  life,  a crisis  to  which  most  men  have  been 
subject,  and  which  I should  like  to  explain,  were  it 
only  to  throw  light  upon  this  danger.  This  beautiful 
lady,  so  slim,  so  frail,  this  milk-white  woman,  so 
languid,  so  delicate,  so  gentle,  with  such  a tender 
face,  crowned  with  fine,  fawn-colored  hair,  this 
creature  whose  brilliancy  seems  phosphorescent  and 
transient,  is  an  organization  of  iron.  However  fiery 
it  may  be,  no  horse  resists  her  nervous  wrist,  this 
apparently  weak  but  tireless  hand.  She  has  the 


288 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


foot  of  a roe,  a small,  hard,  muscular  foot,  under  an 
indescribably  graceful  exterior.  She  is  so  strong  as 
as  to  have  nothing  to  fear  in  any  struggle  ; no  man 
can  overtake  her  on  horseback ; she  would  win  a 
steeple-chase  prize  upon  a centaur ; she  shoots  deer 
and  stags  without  stopping  her  horse.  Her  body 
knows  no  perspiration,  it  inhales  the  warmth  in  the 
atmosphere,  and  lives  in  the  water  for  fear  of  dying. 
Her  passion,  too,  is  quite  African  ; her  desire  speeds 
like  the  whirlwind  in  the  desert,  a desert  whose 
burning  space  is  portrayed  in  her  eyes,  a desert  full 
of  azure  and  love,  with  its  unchanging  sky,  its  cool, 
starlight  nights.  What  a contrast  to  Clochegourde  ! 
The  East  and  the  West : the  one  draining  the  least 
particles  of  moisture  to  support  herself;  the  other 
exuding  her  soul,  enveloping  her  worshippers  with  a 
luminous  atmosphere  ; the  former,  swift  and  lithe ; 
the  latter,  slow  and  plump.  Indeed,  have  you  ever 
considered  the  general  meaning  of  English  morals  ? 
Is  it  not  the  deification  of  matter,  a positive  epicurism, 
systemized,  and  skilfully  applied  ? Whatever  she 
does  or  says,  England  is  materialistic,  perhaps  un- 
consciously. She  has  religious  and  moral  preten- 
sions, in  which  the  divine  spirituality,  the  catholic 
spirit  is  missing,  the  life-giving  grace  of  which  can 
never  be  replaced  by  any  hypocrisy,  no  matter  how 
well  simulated.  She  possesses  in  the  highest  degree 
that  science  of  existence  which  improves  the  least 
particles  of  materialism,  which  makes  your  slippers 
the  most  exquisite  slippers  in  the  world,  which  gives 
an  indescribable  savor  to  your  linen,  which  lines  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


289 


cupboards  with  cedar  and  perfume  ; pours  out  at  a 
certain  hour  a fragrant  tea,  skilfully  laid  out,  expels 
the  dust,  nails  down  the  carpets  from  the  first  step 
to  the  furthest  recesses  of  the  house,  brushes  the 
walls  of  the  cellars,  polishes  the  door-knocker,  eases 
the  carriage  springs,  which  makes  of  matter  a 
nourishing,  mealy  pulp,  conspicuous  and  clean,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  soul  dies  of  satiety,  which 
produces  the  terrible  monotony  of  well-being,  fur- 
nishes an  unthwarted  existence,  stripped  of  all 
spontaneity,  and  which,  in  a word,  mechanizes  one. 

Thus,  I suddenly  became  acquainted,  in  the  very 
seat  of  this  English  luxury,  with  a woman,  perhaps 
alone  of  her  sex,  who  enveloped  me  with  the  snares 
of  a love  ever-rallying  from  its  paroxysms  and  to 
the  excesses  of  which  I was  bringing  a rigid  con- 
tinence, a love  which  has  overpowering  attractions, 
a magnetism  of  its  own,  which  often  admits  one  into 
Heaven  through  the  ivory  doors  of  its  semi-quies- 
cence, or  carries  one  away  on  its  winged  back. 
A horribly  ungrateful  love,  which  laughs  over  the 
corpses  of  those  it  has  killed  ,*  a treacherous  love,  a 
cruel  love  which  is  like  English  policy,  and  in  which 
almost  all  men  perish.  You  already  know  the 
problem  : Man  is  composed  of  matter  and  spirit : in 
him  animalism  culminates,  and  the  angel  begins. 
Hence  this  struggle  that  we  all  go  through  between 
a future  destiny  which  we  foresee  and  the  memories 
of  our  anterior  instincts  from  which  we  are  not  en- 
tirely weaned  : a carnal  love  and  a divine  love. 
One  man  finds  them  in  a single  person,  another 
*9 


290  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

refrains  ; this  one  searches  the  entire  sex  in  pursuit 
of  the  gratification  of  his  anterior  appetites,  that  one 
idealizes  it  in  one  woman  in  whom  the  universe  is 
embodied  ; some  hover  undecided  between  the  pleas- 
ures of  matter  and  those  of  the  spirit,  others  spirit- 
ualize the  flesh  whilst  asking  from  it  what  it  could 
never  give.  If,  in  considering  these  general  features 
of  love,  you  include  the  repulsions  and  affinities 
which  result  from  the  diversity  of  organizations,  and 
which  break  the  compacts  entered  into  by  those  who 
have  not  tried  each  other ; if  you  add  to  them  the 
errors  caused  by  the  expectations  of  people  who 
exist  more  particularly  by  spirit,  by  heart  or  by 
action',  who  think,  feel  and  act,  and  whose  vocations 
are  missed,  and  unappreciated  in  an  association  of 
two  beings,  both  equally  duplex : you  will  have 
great  indulgence  for  the  misfortunes  for  which  so- 
ciety has  no  pity.  Well,  Lady  Arabella  contents 
the  instincts,  the  organs,  the  appetites,  the  vices  and 
virtues  of  the  subtle  matter  of  which  we  are  made. 
She  was  mistress  of  the  body.  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  was  spouse  of  the  soul.  Love  that  is  satisfied 
by  the  mistress  has  limits,  matter  is  finite,  its  prop- 
erties are  of  calculable  force,  it  is  liable  to  inevitable 
saturation  ; in  Paris,  beside  Lady  Dudley  I often  felt 
an  indescribable  void.  The  infinite  is  the  heart’s 
domain,  love  had  no  limits  at  Clochegourde.  I loved 
Lady  Arabella  passionately,  and  certainly,  if  the 
animal  within  her  was  sublime,  she  also  possessed 
superiority  of.  intellect ; her  satirical  conversation 
embraced  everything.  But  I adored  Henriette.  At 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  29 1 

night,  I wept  from  happiness ; in  the  morning,  I 
wept  from  remorse.  There  are  certain  women  who 
are  clever  enough  to  hide  their  jealousy  under  the 
most  angelic  kindness  ; it  is  those,  who,  like  Lady 
Dudley,  are  past  their  thirtieth  year.  These  women 
then  know  how  to  feel  and  to  calculate,  how  to  ex- 
tract all  the  substance  from  the  present  and  to  pro- 
vide for  the  future ; they  can  stifle  what  are  often 
legitimate  cries,  with  the  spirit  of  the  hunter  who 
does  not  notice  a wound  while  pursuing  his  impe- 
tuous halloo.  Without  mentioning  Madame  de 
Mortsauf,  Arabella  tried  to  destroy  her  in  my  heart, 
where  she  was  always  meeting  with  her,  and  her 
passion  revived  at  the  breath  of  this  unconquerable 
love.  In  order  to  triumph  by  comparisons  which 
should  be  to  her  own  advantage,  she  showed  neither 
suspicion,  annoyance,  nor  curiosity,  as  do  most 
young  women  ; but,  like  the  lioness  which  has  seized 
upon  its  victim  and  brought  it  back  to  its  lair  to 
gnaw,  she  took  care  that  nothing  should  disturb  her 
happiness,  and  guarded  me  as  an  unsubdued  conquest. 
1 used  to  write  to  Henriette  beneath  her  very  eyes, 
she  never  read  a single  line,  and  never  tried  in  any 
way  to  find  out  the  address  on  the  letters.  I was 
free.  She  seemed  to  have  said  to  herself:  “ If  I 
lose  him,  I shall  only  have  myself  to  blame.”  And 
she  proudly  relied  upon  so  devoted  a love,  that  she 
would  unhesitatingly  have  given  me  her  life  had  I 
demanded  it.  In  fact  she  made  me  believe  that,  did  I 
leave  her,  she  would  kill  herself  immediately.  You 
should  have  heard  her,  on  this  subject,  extolling  the 


292 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


custom  of  the  Indian  widows  who  burn  themselves 
on  the  funeral-pile  of  their  husbands. 

“ Although,  in  India,  this  practice  is  a distinction 
reserved  for  the  higher  classes,  and  that,  in  this 
respect,  it  is  but  little  understood  by  Europeans,  who 
are  incapable  of  divining  the  haughty  grandeur  of  this 
privilege,  you  must  confess/'  she  said  to  me,  “that, 
with  our  empty  modern  morality,  the  aristocracy  can 
never  retrieve  itself  save  by  extravagance  of  senti- 
ment. How  am  I to  teach  the  bourgeois  that  the 
blood  in  my  veins  is  not  the  same  as  theirs,  if  not 
by  dying  differently  than  they  do  ? Women  of  in- 
ferior birth  can  have  the  diamonds,  the  stuffs,  the 
horses/the  very  escutcheons  which  should  be  secured 
to  us,  for  a name  can  be  bought ! But  to  love,  with 
uplifted  head,  in  defiance  of  the  law,  to  die  for  the 
idol  that  one  has  chosen  for  one’s  self  while  cutting 
out  a shroud  from  the  sheets  of  one’s  bed,  to  sub- 
ordinate Heaven  and  earth  to  a man  by  thus  robbing 
the  Almighty  of  the  right  to  make  a god,  never  to 
fail  him  in  anything,  not  even  for  the  sake  of  vir- 
tue ; for  would  not  refusing  one’s  self  to  him  in  the 
name  of  duty,  mean  giving  one’s  self  to  something 
which  is  not  him  ? — whether  it  be  a man  or  an  idea, 
it  is  always  treason  ! These  are  the  heights  to 
which  ordinary  women  never  attain  ; they  only 
know  two  familiar  ways  : either  the  highway  of 
virtue,  or  the  miry  lane  of  the  courtesan  ! ” 

She  argued,  you  see,  from  pride,  she  flattered  all 
the  vanities  by  deifying  them,  she  set  me  so  high, 
that  she  could  only  live  at  my  knees  ; indeed,  all 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


293 


the  seductions  of  her  spirit  were  shown  in  her  slave- 
like attitude  and  her  complete  submission.  She 
could  remain  a whole  day,  stretched  out  at  my  feet, 
silent,  absorbed  in  looking  at  me,  watching  for  the 
hour  of  pleasure  like  a sultana  of  a seraglio,  and 
hastening  it  by  skilful  coquetry,  while  seeming  to 
await  it.  How  describe  the  first  six  months  dur- 
ing which  1 was  given  up  to  the  enervating  sensuali- 
ties of  a love  that  was  fraught  with  pleasures,  and 
that  varied  them  with  the  skill  acquired  by  experi- 
ence, but  all  in  hiding  its  tuition  under  the  transports 
of  passion  ? These  pleasures,  unexpected  revela- 
tion of  the  poetry  of  the  senses,  constitute  the  strong 
link  by  which  young  men  bind  themselves  to  women 
older  than  themselves  ; but  this  link  is  the  convict's 
circlet,  it  leaves  an  ineffaceable  imprint  upon  the  soul, 
it  gives  it  an  untimely  distaste  for  sweet,  innocent 
love,  rich  in  blossoms  alone,  and  which  knows  not  how 
to  serve  alcohol  in  golden  cups,  curiously  wrought, 
enriched  with  gems  gleaming  with  unquenchable  fire. 
While  tasting  the  pleasures  that  I had  dreamed  of  with- 
out knowing  them,  that  I had  expressed  in  my  votive 
bouquets,  and  which  are  intensified  a thousand  times 
by  the  union  of  the  souls,  I was  not  destitute  of 
paradoxes  whereby  to  justify  to  myself  the  complai- 
sance with  which  I was  drinking  from  this  beautiful 
chalice.  Often  when,  lost  in  the  infinitude  of  exhaus- 
tion, my  liberated  soul  was  hovering  far  above  earth, 
I used  to  think  that  these  pleasures  were  a means  of 
annulling  matter  and  restoring  the  soul  to  its  sublime 
flight.  Lady  Dudley,  like  a great  many  women, 


294 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


would  often  profit  by  the  exaltation  with  which  the 
excess  of  happiness  is  attended,  to  bind  me  by  oaths  ; 
and,  under  the  stimulus  of  desire,  she  would  wring 
from  me  blasphemies  against  the  angel  of  Cloche- 
gourde.  Once  false,  I became  deceitful.  I continued 
writing  to  Madame  de  Mortsauf  as  if  I were  still  the 
same  boy  in  the  little  shabby  blue  coat  she  loved  so 
much  ; but,  I admit,  her  gift  of  second  sight  horrified 
me  when  I thought  of  the  disasters  that  one  indis- 
cretion might  cause  in  the  fine  castle  of  my  hopes. 
Often,  in  the  midst  of  my  delights,  a sudden  pang 
would  chill  me,  and  I would  hear  the  name  of  Henri- 
ette  uttered  by  a voice  from  on  high  like  the  Cain , 
where  is  Abel  ? of  the  Scriptures. 

My  letters  remained  unanswered.  I was  seized 
with  an  awful  anxiety.  I wanted  to  start  for  Cloche- 
gourde.  Arabella  did  not  oppose  it  in  any  way, 
but  spoke  naturally  of  accompanying  me  to  Touraine. 
Her  caprice  stimulated  by  difficulty,  her  presenti- 
ments justified  by  an  unlooked  for  happiness,  had 
all  inspired  her  with  a genuine  love  which  she  wished 
to  make  unique.  Her  feminine  genius  revealed  to 
her  in  this  journey  a means  of  detaching  me  entirely 
from  Madame  de  Mortsauf ; whilst  I,  blinded  by  ter- 
ror, and  carried  away  by  the  simplicity  of  real  pas- 
sion, never  saw  the  trap  in  which  I was  to  be 
caught. 


Lady  Dudley  proposed  the  most  humble  conces- 
sions, and  forestalled  all  objections.  She  consented 
to  live  near  Tours,  in  the  country,  unknown,  dis- 
guised, without  going  out  by  day,  and  appointing 
our  rendezvous  at  night  when  nobody  could  come 
upon  us.  1 left  Tours  on  horseback  for  Cloche- 
gourde.  I had  my  reasons  for  going  in  this  way, 
for  1 needed  a horse  for  my  nocturnal  excursions, 
and  mine  was  an  Arab  that  Lady  Esther  Stanhope 
had  sent  to  the  marchioness,  and  which  she  had 
exchanged  for  that  famous  Rembrandt  picture 
that  she  has  in  her  salon  in  London,  which  I ob- 
tained so  strangely.  I took  the  road  which  I had 
traversed  on  foot  six  years  before,  and  stopped 
under  the  walnut-tree.  From  there,  I saw  Ma- 
dame de  Mortsauf  in  a white  dress  on  the  edge 
of  the  terrace.  I immediately  rushed  toward 
her  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and  in  a few 
minutes  was  at  the  base  of  the  wall,  after  having 
cleared  the  distance  in  a straight  line,  as  if  it  were  a 
steeple-chase.  She  heard  the  mighty  bounds  of  the 
swallow  of  the  desert,  and,  when  1 stopped  short  at 
the  corner  of  the  terrace,  she  said  : 

(295) 


296  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

“Ah  ! there  you  are  ! ” 

I was  thunderstruck  by  these  few  words.  She 
knew  of  my  intrigue.  Who  could  have  told  her  ? 
Her  mother,  whose  odious  letter  she  showed  me 
later  on  S The  apathetic  faintness  of  the  voice, 
formerly  so  full  of  life,  the  leaden  dullness  of  the 
tone,  betrayed  an  indelible  sorrow,  exhaled  by  an 
indescribable  odor  of  flowers  irretrievably  cut.  The 
hurricane  of  infidelity,  like  those  risings  of  the  Loire 
which  choke  up  the  soil  for  ever,  had  swept  over  her 
soul,  laying  waste  the  rich  green  meadows.  I led 
my  horse  through  the  little  door ; he  lay  down 
upon  the  turf  at  my  bidding,  and  the  countess,  who 
had  slowly  approached,  cried : 

“ The  beautiful  animal ! ” 

She  was  holding  her  arms  folded  so  that  I should 
not  take  her  hand,  I divined  her  meaning. 

“1  will  go  and  tell  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,”  she 
said,  leaving  me. 

1 stood  there,  aghast,  letting  her  go,  gazing  at  her, 
still  noble,  calm  and  proud,  fairer  than  I had  ever 
seen  her,  but  with  the  stamp  of  the  bitterest  melan- 
choly imprinted  upon  her  forehead,  and  hanging  her 
head  like  a lily  weighed  down  by  the  rain. 

“ Henriette  ! ” I cried,  with  the  desperation  of  a 
man  who  feels  he  is  dying. 

She  did  not  turn  round  at  all,  she  never  stopped, 
she  disdained  to  tell  me  she  had  withdrawn  her 
name  from  me,  that  she  would  answer  to  it  no  more, 
she  still  walked  on.  In  this  dreadful  valley  which 
must  contain  millions  of  people  returned  to  dust,  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


297 


whose  essence  now  quickens  the  surface  of  the  globe, 
I might  feel  insignificant  in  the  midst  of  this  multi- 
tude crowded  beneath  the  luminous  immensities 
which  would  illuminate  them  by  their  glory  ; but 
even  then  I should  be  less  humiliated  than  1 was 
before  this  white  form,  rising  like  some  inflexible 
flood  in  a town,  ascending  with  equal  steps  to 
the  chateau  of  Clochegourde,  the  crown  and  the 
torture  of  this  Christian  Dido  ! I cursed  Arabella 
with  one  imprecation  that  would  have  killed  her  had 
she  heard  it,  she  who  had  forsaken  all  for  me,  just 
as  one  forsakes  all  for  God  ! I stood  lost  in  a world 
of  thought,  seeing  nothing  on  all  sides  but  the  in- 
finity of  sorrow.  Then  I saw  them  all  coming  down. 
Jacques  was  running  with  the  naive  impetuosity 
of  his  age.  Madeleine,  the  gazelle  with  the  dying 
eyes,  accompanied  her  mother.  I held  Jacques 
tight  to  my  heart,  shedding  over  him  the  effusion  of 
the  soul  and  the  tears  that  his  mother  rejected. 

Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  came  to  me,  opened  his 
arms,  clasped  me  to  him,  kissed  me  on  the  cheeks, 
and  said : 

“ Felix,  I have  learned  that  lowed  my  life  to 
you  ! ” 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  turned  her  back  upon  us 
during  this  scene,  seizing  the  excuse  of  showing  the 
horse  to  the  astonished  Madeleine, 

“ Ah  ! the  devil ! how  like  women  ! ” cried  the 
count  angrily,  “they  examine  your  horse. ” 

Madeleine  turned  round,  came  to  me,  and  I kissed 
her  hand,  looking  at  the  countess,  who  blushed. 


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“ Madeleine  is  much  better, ” I said. 

“ Poor  little  girl ! ” replied  the  countess,  kissing 
her  forehead. 

“ Yes,  for  the  moment  they  are  all  well,”  replied 
the  count.  “ I alone,  my  dear  Felix,  am  as  shat- 
tered as  an  old,  tottering  tower.” 

“ It  seems  that  the  general  still  has  his  dragons 
noirs  ? ” I rejoined,  looking  at  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

“ We  all  have  our  blue  devils,"  she  replied,  “is 
not  that  the  English  term  ? ” 

We  went  up  toward  the  vineyards,  all  walking  to- 
gether, and  feeling  that  some  grave  event  had  taken 
place.  She  had  no  desire  to  be  alone  with  me.  In 
fact,  i was  her  guest. 

“ What  about  your  horse  ? ” said  the  count  as  we 
emerged. 

“You  see,”  rejoined  the  countess,  “that  I was 
wrong  in  thinking  about  it  and  am  wrong  in  not 
thinking  about  it.” 

“ Why,  yes,”  he  said,  “ everything  should  be  done 
at  the  proper  time.” 

“ I will  go,”  I said,  finding  this  cold  reception  un- 
bearable, “ I alone  can  make  him  move,  and  arrange 
him  properly.  My  groom  is  coming  by  the  Chinon 
omnibus,  he  will  rub  him  down.” 

“ Does  the  groom  also  come  from  England  ?”  she 
said. 

“ He  gets  everything  from  there,”  replied  the 
count,  whose  spirits  rose  at  seeing  his  wife  sad. 

The  coldness  of  his  wife  was  an  opportunity  for 
opposing  her,  and  he  overwhelmed  me  with  his 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


299 


friendliness.  I learned  the  burdensomeness  of  a hus- 
band’s attachment.  Do  not  imagine  that  as  soon  as 
their  attentions  weary  superior  minds  that  their 
wives  are  then  lavish  with  an  affection  which  seems 
to  have  been  usurped  ; no  ! they  are  odious  and  in- 
supportable from  the  day  that  love  vanishes.  Sym- 
pathy, an  essential  condition  of  such  association, 
then  appears  to  be  but  a means ; it  weighs,  and  is 
hateful  as  are  all  means  which  are  not  justified  by 
the  end. 

“ My  dear  Felix,”  said  the  count,  taking  my 
hands  and  squeezing  them  affectionately,  “ forgive 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  : women  are  bound  to  be  pet- 
tish, their  weakness  excuses  them,  they  cannot 
possibly  acquire  the  equality  of  temper  which  gives 
us  our  force  of  character.  She  is  very  fond  of  you 
I know  ; but — ” 

Whilst  the  count  was  talking,  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf gradually  moved  away  from  us  so  as  to  leave 
us  alone. 

“ Felix,”  he  then  said  to  me,  gazing  after  his 
wife,  who  was  going  back  to  the  chateau  with  her 
two  children,  “ I do  not  know  what  is  going  on  in 
Madame  de  Mortsauf’s  mind,  but  her  character  has 
completely  changed  in  the  last  six  weeks.  She, 
hitherto  so  gentle,  so  devoted,  has  become  incredibly 
disagreeable.” 

Manette  told  me,  later  on,  that  the  countess  had 
fallen  into  a state  of  dejection  which  rendered  her 
insensible  to  the  count’s  bickerings.  No  longer  en- 
countering sensitive  soil  in  which  to  thrust  his  darts, 


300 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


this  man  had  grown  anxious,  like  the  child  who 
sees  no  sign  of  life  in  the  poor  insect  it  is  tormenting. 
Just  now,  he  had  need  of  a confidant,  just  as  an  ex- 
ecutioner requires  assistance. 

“Try,”  he  said,  after  a pause,  “to  question 
Madame  de  Mortsauf.  A wife  always  keeps  some 
secrets  from  her  husband ; but  perhaps  she  will  con- 
fide the  subject  of  her  troubles  to  you.  Were  it  to 
cost  me  half  my  remaining  days  and  half  my  for- 
tune, I would  sacrifice  everything  to  make  her 
happy.  She  is  so  necessary  to  my  life  ! If,  in  my 
old  age,  I did  not  know  that  I always  had  this  angel 
beside  me,  I should  be  the  most  miserable  of  men  ! 
I should  like  to  die  happy.  So  tell  her  that  she  will 
not  have  to  suffer  me  long.  I,  Felix,  my  poor 
friend,  I am  going  I know.  I hide  the  fatal  truth 
from  everybody,  why  distress  them  beforehand  ? 
It  is  always  the  pylorus,  my  friend  ! At  last  I have 
found  out  the  causes  of  the  malady,  sensitiveness  is 
killing  me.  Indeed,  all  our  affections  affect  the 
gastric  center — ” 

“So  that,”  I said,  smiling,  “susceptible  people 
perish  through  the  stomach.” 

“ Don’t  laugh,  Felix,  nothing  is  more  true.  Too 
keen  a suffering  exaggerates  the  play  of  the  great 
sympathetic.  This  over-excitement  of  the  feelings 
keeps  the  mucous  membrane  of  the  stomach  in  a 
constant  state  of  irritation.  If  this  condition  per- 
sists, it  causes  at  first  imperceptible  disturbances  in 
the  digestive  functions  : the  secretions  change,  the 
appetite  becomes  vitiated  and  the  digestion  becomes 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


301 


irregular ; very  soon,  sharp  pains  appear,  increase, 
and  day  by  day  become  more  frequent ; then  the  dis- 
order reaches  its  height,  as  if  some  slow  poison  were 
being  mingled  with  the  alimentary  bolus  ; the  mucus 
thickens,  the  induration  of  the  valve  of  the  pylorus 
is  effected  and  there  is  formed  a scirrhus  which  must 
kill  one.  Well,  I have  come  to  that,  my  dear  fel- 
low ! The  induration  progresses  without  anything 
being  able  to  stop  it.  Look  at  my  straw-colored 
complexion,  my  dry,  burning  eyes,  my  extreme 
emaciation  ! I am  withering  up.  What  can  you 
expect ! I brought  back  the  germ  of  this  malady 
from  the  emigration  : I suffered  so  much  at  that 
time  ! My  marriage,  which  might  have  repaired  the 
evils  of  the  emigration,  far  from  soothing  my  ulcer- 
ated spirit,  only  reopened  the  wound.  What  have  I 
met  with  here  ? Eternal  alarms  caused  by  my  chil- 
dren, domestic  troubles,  a fortune  to  re-establish, 
economies  which  entailed  a thousand  privations  that 
I had  to  impose  upon  my  wife  and  which  I was  the  first 
to  suffer  from.  Finally,  I can  only  confide  this  secret 
to  you,  but  this  is  my  greatest  affliction  : although 
Blanche  may  be  an  angel,  she  does  not  understand 
me  ; she  knows  nothing  of  my  pains,  she  provokes 
them  ; 1 forgive  her ! Listen,  this  is  an  awful  thing 
to  say,  my  dear  boy,  but  a less  virtuous  woman  than 
she  would  have  made  me  happier  by  lending  herself 
to  consolations  that  Blanche  cannot  even  imagine, 
for  she  is  as  innocent  as  a child  ! Added  to  that  my 
servants  pester  me,  they  are  blockheads  who  hear 
Greek  when  I talk  French.  At  the  time  when  our 


302 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


fortune  was  fairly  reconstructed,  when  I had  fewer 
worries,  the  harm  was  done,  I was  attaining  the 
period  of  vitiated  appetites ; then  came  my  great 
illness,  so  badly  managed  by  Origet.  In  short,  now, 
I have  not  six  months  to  live — ” 

I was  listening  to  the  count  with  terror.  Upon 
seeing  the  countess  again,  I had  been  struck  with 
her  dry  eyes  and  sallow  complexion  ; I dragged  the 
count  toward  the  house  whilst  appearing  to  listen 
to  his  complaints  interlarded  with  medical  disserta- 
tions, but  I was  thinking  only  of  Henriette  and 
wanted  to  observe  her.  I found  the  countess  in  the 
salon,  where  she  was  attending  a mathematical  les- 
son given  by  the  Abbe  de  Dominis  to  Jacques,  while 
showing  Madeleine  a tapestry  stitch.  Formerly, 
she  would  easily  have  contrived,  on  the  day  of  my 
arrival,  to  put  off  her  occupations  so  as  to  devote 
herself  to  me  entirely  ; but  my  love  was  so  intensely 
real,  that  I forced  back  into  my  heart  the  grief  I felt 
at  the  contrast  between  the  present  and  the  past ; 
for  I remarked  the  fatal  yellowish  tinge  which,  upon 
this  heavenly  face,  resembled  the  reflection  of  the 
divine  gleam  that  the  Italian  painters  gave  to  the 
faces  of  the  saints.  And  then  I felt  within  me  the  icy 
breath  of  death.  Then,  when  the  fire  of  her  eyes, 
devoid  of  the  limpid  moisture  in  which  her  glance 
had  once  swam,  was  turned  upon  me,  I shivered ; 
then  I noticed  several  alterations  due  to  sorrow 
which  I had  not  remarked  at  all  in  the  open  air : 
tiny  lines  which,  at  my  last  visit,  were  but  lightly 
imprinted  upon  her  brow,  now  indented  it ; her  bluish 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


303 


temples  seemed  to  be  hot  and  sunken  ; her  eyes 
were  hollow  under  their  relaxed  arches,  and  the 
throat  had  darkened ; she  was  blighted  like  fruit 
upon  which  the  bruises  are  beginning  to  show,  and 
that  an  inward  worm  has  prematurely  tinged.  I, 
whose  whole  ambition  was  to  flood  her  soul  with 
happiness,  had  I not  infused  bitterness  into  the 
source  at  which  she  renewed  her  life,  and  fortified 
her  courage  ? I came  and  sat  down  beside  her,  and 
said  to  her  in  a voice  full  of  yearning  contrition  : 

4 4 Are  you  satisfied  about  your  health  ? ” 

“Yes,”  she  replied,  piercing  me  with  her  eyes. 
“ My  health  is  there,”  she  continued,  pointing  to 
Jacques  and  Madeleine. 

Having  issued  triumphantly  from  her  struggle 
with  nature,  Madeleine,  at  fifteen,  was  a woman  ; 
she  had  grown,  her  Bengal  rose  color  had  revived  in 
her  tanned  cheeks  ; she  had  lost  the  childish  uncon- 
cern which  looks  everything  in  the  face,  and  was  be- 
ginning to  cast  down  her  eyes  ; her  movements  were 
becoming  as  rare  and  sedate  as  her  mother’s ; her 
figure  was  slim,  and  the  graces  of  her  bust  were  al- 
ready blooming  ; coquetry  was  already  smoothing  her 
magnificent  black  hair,  parted  in  two  bands  over  her 
Spanish  brow.  She  was  like  those  pretty  statuettes 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  so  delicate  in  outline,  so  slender 
of  form,  that  the  eye  fears  to  see  them  break  under 
its  caress  ; but  health,  the  eventual  outcome  of  so 
many  efforts,  had  covered  her  cheeks  with  a peachy 
velvet,  and  the  line  of  her  neck  with  the  silky  down 
whereon,  as  in  her  mother’s  case  the  light  shimmered. 


304 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


She  was  to  live!'  God  had  written  it,  dear  bud  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  human  flowers,  upon  the  long 
lashes  of  your  lids,  upon  the  curve  of  your  shoulders, 
which  promised  as  rich  a development  as  those  of 
your  mother  ! This  dusky  young  girl,  of  poplar- 
like height,  was  a contrast  to  Jacques,  a fragile 
youth  of  seventeen,  whose  head  was  enlarged, 
whose  sudden  expansion  of  brow  was  alarming,  and 
whose  feverish,  tired  eyes  were  in  keeping  with  a 
deep  sonorous  voice.  The  organ  gave  forth  too  full 
a volume  of  sound,  just  as  the  glance  disclosed  too 
many  thoughts.  It  was  the  intellect,  the  soul,  and 
the  heart  of  Henriette  devouring  a feeble  body  in 
their  -rapid  flame  ; for  Jacques  had  that  milky  com- 
plexion flushed  with  the  burning  colors  which  char- 
acterize young  English  girls  who  are  marked  by  the 
flail  to  be  cut  down  at  an  appointed  time  ; delusive 
health  ! In  obedience  to  the  sign  with  which  Hen- 
riette, after  having  pointed  to  Madeleine,  indicated 
Jacques  who  was  chalking  geometrical  figures  and 
algebraical  calculations  upon  a blackboard  before  the 
Abbe  de  Dominis,  I started  at  the  sight  of  death  be- 
neath the  flowers,  and  reverenced  the  poor  mother's 
illusion. 

“ When  I see  them  like  this,  joy  hushes  my  sor- 
rows, just  as  they  are  hushed  and  disappear  when 
I see  them  ill.  My  friend,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
glistening  with  maternal  delight,  “ if  other  affections 
fail  us,  the  feelings  here  requited,  the  duties  fulfilled 
and  crowned  with  success,  compensate  for  the  defeat 
encountered  elsewhere.  Jacques,  like  you,  will  be 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


305 


a highly  educated  man,  full  of  virtuous  knowledge ; 
like  you,  he  will  be  an  honor  to  his  country,  which 
perhaps  he  will  govern,  helped  by  you  who  will  be 
occupying  so  exalted  a position  ; but  I shall  strive  to 
make  him  faithful  to  his  early  affections.  Made- 
leine, the  dear  creature,  already  has  a sublime  heart, 
she  is  as  pure  as  the  snow  on  the  highest  peak  of 
the  Alps,  she  will  have  the  devotion  of  woman  and 
her  gracious  intellect,  she  is  proud,  she  will  be 
worthy  of  the  De  Lenoncourts  ! The  once  tortured 
mother  is  now  very  happy,  happy  with  an  infinite, 
unmixed  happiness ; yes,  my  life  is  full  and  rich. 
You  see,  God  multiplies  my  joys  in  the  midst  of 
lawful  affections  and  mingles  bitterness  with  those 
to  which  a dangerous  inclination  was  hurrying 
me” 

“ Good  ! ” cried  the  abbe  joyfully,  “ Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  knows  as  much  as  I do.” 

At  the  end  of  his  demonstration,  Jacques  coughed 
slightly. 

“ Enough  for  to-day,  my  dear  abbe,”  said  the 
anxious  countess,  “ and  above  all,  no  chemistry 
lesson. — Go  for  a ride,  Jacques,”  she  continued, 
submitting  to  her  son's  embrace  with  the  fond  but 
dignified  delight  of  a mother,  and  her  eyes  turned 
upon  me  as  if  to  challenge  my  memory.  “ Go,  dear, 
and  be  careful.” 

“ But,”  I said,  while  she  was  following  Jacques 
with  a lingering  look,  “ you  have  not  answered  me. 
Do  you  feel  any  pain  ? ” 

“Yes,  sometimes  in  the  stomach.  If  I were  in 
20 


306 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


Paris,  I should  enjoy  all  the  honors  of  gastritis,  the 
fashionable  complaint.” 

“Mother  is  often  in  great  pain,”  said  Madeleine. 

“Ah!”  she  said,  “does  my  health  interest 
you — ?” 

Madeleine,  astonished  at  the  profound  irony  which 
marked  these  words,  looked  at  us  in  turn  ; with  my 
eyes  I was  counting  the  pink  flowers  on  the  cushions 
of  her  gray  and  green  suite  with  which  the  salon 
was  furnished. 

“ This  situation  is  intolerable,”  I whispered. 

“ Was  it  I who  created  it  ? ” she  asked.  “ My 
dear  child,”  she  added  aloud,  assuming  that  cruel 
playfulness  with  which  women  clothe  their  revenge, 
“are  you  ignorant  of  modern  history?  have  not 
France  and  England  always  been  enemies  ? Made- 
leine knows  that,  she  knows  that  they  are  separated 
by  a vast  sea,  a cold,  stormy  sea.” 

The  vases  on  the  chimney-piece  had  been  replaced 
by  candelabra,  no  doubt  in  order  to  deprive  me  of 
the  pleasure  of  filling  them  with  flowers  ; I found 
them  later  on  in  her  room.  When  my  servant  ar- 
rived, 1 went  out  to  give  him  his  orders ; he  had 
brought  me  several  things  which  I wanted  to  put  in 
my  room. 

“ Felix,”  said  the  countess,  “ don't  make  a mis- 
take ! My  aunt’s  old  room  now  belongs  to  Made- 
leine, you  are  over  the  count.” 

Although  guilty,  1 had  a heart,  and  all  these  words 
were  stabs  coolly  inflicted  in  the  most  sensitive  spots 
which  she  seemed  to  pick  out  to  strike.  Moral  suf- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


307 


ferings  are  relative,  they  are  in  proportion  to  the  del- 
icacy of  the  mind,  and  the  countess  had  unrelent- 
ingly rung  the  changes  on  this  scale  of  pain  ; but, 
for  this  very  reason,  the  best  woman  will  be 
so  much  the  more  cruel  as  she  has  been  kind ; I 
looked  at  her,  but  she  bent  her  head.  I went  to  my 
new  room,  which  was  pretty,  white  and  green. 
There,  I burst  into  tears.  Henriette  heard  me,  she 
came  bringing  a bouquet  of  flowers. 

“ Henriette/ ’ I said,  “ has  it  come  to  this  that  you 
will  not  forgive  the  most  excusable  of  faults  ? ” 

“ Never  call  me  Henriette  again,”  she  replied, 
4 ‘she  no  longer  exists,  poor  woman;  but  you  will 
always  find  Madame  de  Mortsauf  a devoted  friend 
who  will  listen  to  you,  and  love  you.  Felix,  we  will 
talk  later  on.  If  you  still  have  any  feeling  for  me, 
you  will  let  me  grow  accustomed  to  seeing  you  ; and, 
when  words  torture  my  heart  less,  when  I have  re- 
covered a little  courage,  well  then,  then  only — Look 
at  this  valley,”  she  said,  pointing  to  the  Indre,  “ it 
hurts  me,  I love  it  all  the  same.” 

“ Ah  ! a curse  on  England  and  all  her  women  ! I 
shall  send  in  my  resignation  to  the  king,  I will  die 
here,  forgiven.” 

“ No,  love  her,  this  woman  ! Henriette  is  no 
more,  I do  not  jest,  this  you  must  know.” 

She  withdrew,  revealing  the  extent  of  her  wounds 
in  the  accent  of  this  last  remark.  I went  out  quickly, 
held  her  back  and  said  : 

“ Then  3/ou  do  not  love  me  any  more  ? ” 

“You  have  done  me  more  harm  than  all  the  others 


308 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


put  together.  Now,  I suffer  less,  so  I love  you  less  ,* 
but  it  is  only  in  England  that  they  say  : There  is  no 
never,  and  no  forever ! here,  we  say  : forever!  Be 
kind,  do  not  increase  my  pain  ; and,  if  you  suffer, 
remember  that  I exist ! ” 

She  drew  away  her  hand,  which  I was  holding, 
cold,  lifeless  but  damp,  and  flew  like  an  arrow  down 
the  corridor  in  which  this  truly  tragic  scene  had  taken 
place.  During  dinner,  the  count  had  a punishment 
in  store  for  me  that  I had  not  dreamed  of. 

“ Then  the  Marquise  Dudley  is  not  in  Paris  ? ” he 
said. 

1 became  exceedingly  red  whilst  replying : 

“No.” 

“ She  is  not  at  Tours  ? ” continued  the  count. 

“She  is  not  divorced,  she  may  go  to  England. 
Her  husband  would  be  very  pleased  if  she  would  re- 
turn to  him,”  I said  hastily. 

“ Has  she  any  children  ? ” asked  Madame  de 
Mortsauf,  in  altered  tones. 

“ Two  sons,”  1 said. 

“ Where  are  they  ? ” 

“ In  England,  with  the  father.” 

“ Come,  Felix,  be  frank. — Is  she  as  beautiful  as 
they  say  ? ” 

“ How  can  you  ask  him  such  a question  ! Is  not 
the  woman  one  loves  always  the  most  beautiful  of 
women  ? ” cried  the  countess. 

“ Yes,  always,”  I said  proudly,  darting  a look  at 
her  which  she  could  not  bear. 

“ You  are  lucky,”  resumed  the  count,  “yes,  you 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  309 

are  a lucky  rogue.  Ah  ! in  my  youth  I should  have 
been  crazy  over  such  a conquest — ” 

“ That  will  do/’  said  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  draw- 
ing her  husband’s  attention  to  Madeleine  with  a look. 

“ I am  not  a child,”  said  the  count,  who  delighted 
in  going  back  to  his  youth.  Upon  leaving  the  table, 
the  countess  took  me  out  on  the  terrace,  and, 
when  we  got  there,  she  cried  : 

“What!  there  are  women  who  sacrifice  their 
children  for  a man  ? Wealth,  the  world,  I can  con- 
ceive of,  eternity,  yes,  perhaps  ! But  children  ! to 
debar  one’s  self  from  one’s  children  ! ” 

“Yes,  and  these  women  would  like  to  have  still 
more  to  sacrifice,  they  give  all — ” 

To  the  countess,  the  world  was  overturned,  her 
ideas  became  confused.  Overwhelmed  by  this 
grandeur,  suspecting  that  the  happiness  might  justify 
this  immolation,  hearing  within  herself  the  cries  of 
the  rebellious  flesh,  she  stood  aghast  in  the  presence 
of  her  wasted  life.  Yes,  she  had  a moment  of  hor- 
rible doubt ; but  she  recovered  herself,  noble  and 
saintly,  carrying  her  head  high. 

“ Then  love  her  well,  Felix,  this  woman,”  she 
said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  “ she  shall  be  my  more 
fortunate  sister.  I will  forgive  her  the  wrong  she 
has  done  me,  if  she  gives  you  what  you  never  ought 
to  find  here,  and  what  you  can  no  longer  expect  from 
me.  You  were  right,  1 have  never  told  you  that  I 
loved  you,  and  I have  never  loved  as  people  love  in 
this  world.  But,  if  she  is  not  a mother,  how  can  she 
love  ? ” 


3io 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ Dear  angel, ” I replied,  “ I should  have  to  be  far 
less  moved  than  I am  to  explain  to  you  that  you 
soar  victoriously  above  her,  that  she  is  a woman 
of  the  earth,  a daughter  of  the  fallen  race,  and  that 
you  are  a daughter  of  the  skies,  an  adored  angel, 
that  you  have  my  whole  heart  and  that  she  has 
nothing  but  my  body  ; she  knows  it,  she  is  in  despair 
about  it,  and  she  would  change  with  you,  even  if  the 
most  cruel  martyrdom  were  inflicted  upon  her  as  the 
price  of  this  change.  But  it  is  all  irretrievable.  To 
you  belong  the  soul,  the  thoughts,  the  pure  love,  to 
you  youth  and  old  age ; to  her  the  desires  and 
pleasures  of  fleeting  passion  ; to  you  my  memory  in 
its  fullest  capacity,  to  her  the  most  profound  ob- 
livion ! ” 

“ Speak,  speak,  oh  ! tell  me  that,  my  friend  ! ” 
She  sat  down  on  a bench  and  burst  into  tears. 
“Then,  Felix,  purity  of  life  and  maternal  love, 
are  not  mistakes  ! Oh  ! spread  this  balm  upon  my 
wounds  ! Say  once  more  the  words  which  carry  me 
back  to  those  skies  where  I longed  to  take  an  equal 
flight  with  you  ! Bless  me  with  one  look,  one  sacred 
word,  and  I will  forgive  you  all  the  ills  that  I have 
suffered  these  last  two  months.” 

“ Henriette,  there  are  mysteries  in  our  life  that 
you  know  nothing  about.  I met  you  at  an  age  at 
which  sentiment  can  stifle  the  desires  inspired  by 
our  nature  ; but  two  or  three  scenes,  the  memory  of 
which  will  stir  in  the  very  hour  of  death,  must  have 
shown  you  that  this  age  was  ending,  and  your  con- 
stant triumph  has  been  to  prolong  its  mute  de- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  31 1 

lights.  A love  without  possession  maintains  itself 
on  the  very  aggravation  of  the  desires  ; then  there 
comes  a moment  when  all  is  suffering  within  us, 
who  resemble  you  in  nothing.  We  possess  a power 
which  could  not  be  resigned,  at  the  risk  of  forfeiting 
our  manhood.  Deprived  of  the  food  which  it  needs, 
the  heart  consumes  itself,  and  feels  an  exhaustion 
which  is  not  death,  but  which  precedes  it.  Hence 
nature  cannot  long  be  imposed  upon  ; at  the  least 
accident,  she  awakes  with  a force  that  is  like  mad- 
ness. No,  1 have  not  loved,  but  I was  thirsty  in  the 
midst  of  the  desert.’ * 

“ Of  the  desert!”  she  said  bitterly,  pointing  to 
the  valley.  “ And,”  she  added,  “ how  he  reasons, 
and  what  subtle  distinctions  ! Believers  have  not  so 
much  ingenuity.” 

“ Henriette,”  I said,  “ do  not  let  us  quarrel  for  a 
few  chance  expressions.  No,  my  soul  has  not 
wavered,  but  I was  not  master  of  my  senses.  This 
woman  is  aware  that  you  are  the  one  beloved.  She 
plays  a secondary  role  in  my  life,  she  knows  it,  and 
submits  to  it ; 1 have  the  right  to  leave  her,  as  one 
leaves  a courtesan — ” 

“ And  then  ? ” 

“She  has  told  me  that  she  will  kill  herself,”  I 
replied,  thinking  that  this  resolution  would  surprise 
Henriette.  But,  upon  hearing  me,  she  broke  into 
one  of  those  scornful  smiles  which  are  far  more  ex- 
pressive than  the  thoughts  they  interpret. 

“ My  dear  heart,”  I continued,  “ if  you  take  into 
consideration  my  resistance  and  the  seductions 


312 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


which  plotted  my  downfall,  you  will  understand  this 
fatal—” 

“ Oh  ! yes,  fatal ! ” she  said,  “ I had  too  much 
faith  in  you  ! I thought  that  you  would  never  fail 
in  the  virtue  practised  by  the  priest  and — 
which  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  possesses,”  she  added, 
infusing  the  sarcasm  of  epigram  into  her  voice. — “ All 
is  over,”  she  resumed  after  a pause,  “ I owe  you  a 
great  deal,  my  friend  : you  have  extinguished  the 
flames  of  material  life  within  me.  The  hardest  part 
of  the  way  is  done,  age  is  creeping  on,  I am  now 
ailing,  and  shall  soon  be  infirm  ; I could  never  be 
the  brilliant  fairy  who  rains  her  favors  upon  you. 
Be  faithful  to  Lady  Arabella.  Madeleine,  whom  I 
was  bringing  up  so  nicely  for  you,  to  whom  will  she 
belong  ? Poor  Madeleine  ! poor  Madeleine  ! ” she 
repeated  like  a mournful  refrain,  “ if  you  had  heard 
her  saying  to  me  : * Mother,  you  are  not  kind  to 
Felix  ! ’ the  dear  creature  ! ” 

She  looked  at  me  under  the  warm  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun  which  were  glancing  through  the  leaves, 
and,  seized  by  I know  not  what  compassion  for  our 
wreck,  she  looked  back  into  our  unsullied  past,  by 
giving  way  to  retrospections  that  were  mutual.  We 
revived  our  memories,  our  eyes  went  from  the  valley 
to  the  vineyard,  from  the  windows  of  Clochegourde 
to  Frapesle,  whilst  peopling  this  reverie  with  our 
scented  bouquets,  the  creations  of  our  desires.  It 
was  her  last  pleasure,  enjoyed  with  the  sincerity  of 
the  Christian  spirit.  This  scene,  so  pregnant  for 
us,  had  plunged  us  into  the  same  melancholy.  She 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  313 

believed  my  words,  and  saw  herself  where  I set  her, 
in  the  heavens. 

“ My  friend,  ” she  said,  “ I obey  God,  for  His 
finger  is  in  all  this.” 

It  was  not  until  later  that  I recognized  the  discern- 
ment of  these  words. 

We  slowly  reascended  the  terraces.  She  took 
my  arm,  and  leaned  upon  it,  resigned  and  bleeding, 
but  with  a salve  upon  her  wounds. 

“ Such  is  human  life,”  she  said.  “ What  has 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  done  to  deserve  his  fate  ? 
This  proves  to  us  the  existence  of  a better  world. 
Woe  to  those  who  should  complain  of  having  walked 
in  the  right  way  ! ” 

Then  she  set  herself  to  make  so  just  an  estima- 
tion of  life,  to  consider  it  so  deeply  in  its  different 
aspects,  that  these  cool  calculations  revealed  to  me 
the  disgust  that  had  seized  her  for  all  things  here  be- 
low. Upon  reaching  the  porch,  she  dropped  my 
arm,  and  spoke  these  concluding  words  : 

“ If  God  has  given  us  the  sensation  and  love  of 
happiness,  ought  He  not  to  take  care  of  those  inno- 
cent souls  who  have  known  nothing  but  affliction 
here  below  ? It  must  be  so,  or  God  is  not,  else  our 
life  would  be  a bitter  mockery.” 

At  these  last  words,  she  hastily  went  in,  and  I 
found  her  on  her  couch,  lying  as  if  she  had  been 
crushed  by  the  voice  which  felled  Saint  Paul. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? ” I said. 

“ I know  no  more  what  virtue  is,”  she  said,  “and 
am  not  conscious  of  my  own  ! ” 


314 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


We  were  both  petrified,  listening  to  the  sound 
of  this  speech  as  if  it  were  a stone  thrown  into  an 
abyss. 

“ If  my  life  has  been  a mistake,  she  is  right,  she ! " 
continued  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

Thus  her  final  struggle  followed  her  final  pleasure. 
When  the  count  came,  she  said  she  felt  ill,  she  who 
never  complained  ; I implored  her  to  specify  her  suf- 
ferings, but  she  refused  to  give  any  explanation,  and 
went  to  bed,  leaving  me  a prey  to  pangs  of  remorse 
which  emanated  from  one  another.  Madeleine  ac- 
companied her  mother ; and  the  next  day,  I learned 
from  her  that  the  countess  had  been  taken  with 
vomiting,  caused,  she  said,  by  the  violent  emotions 
of  this  day.  Thus  I,  who  longed  to  give  my  life  for 
her,  I was  killing  her. 

“ Dear  count,”  I said  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf, 
who  forced  me  to  play  backgammon,  “ I think  the 
countess  is  very  seriously  ill ; there  is  still  time  to 
save  her : Call  in  Origet,  and  beg  her  to  follow  his 
advice — ” 

“ Origet,  who  killed  me  ? ” he  said,  interrupting 
me.  “ No,  no,  I shall  consult  Carbonneau.” 


All  this  week,  and  especially  the  first  few  days,  I 
endured  agony,  the  beginning  of  paralysis  of  the 
affections,  torture  to  vanity,  torture  to  the  soul . One 
must  have  been  the  centre  of  everything,  of  looks  and 
sighs,  have  been  the  element  of  life,  the  focus  from 
which  each  drew  light,  to  understand  the  horror  of 
the  blank.  The  same  things  were  there,  but  the 
spirit  which  vivified  them  was  as  dead  as  an  ex- 
tinguished flame.  I realized  the  awful  necessity 
there  is  for  lovers  never  to  meet  again  when  love  has 
flown.  To  be  of  no  more  importance,  where  one  has 
reigned  ! to  find  the  silent  chill  of  death  there  where 
the  joyous  rays  of  life  had  sparkled  ! the  contrast  is 
overwhelming.  Very  soon  I came  to  regret  the  pain- 
ful ignorance  of  all  happiness  which  had  darkened  my 
youth.  Indeed  my  despair  became  so  deep  that  I 
think  the  countess  was  touched.  One  day,  after 
dinner,  whilst  we  were  all  walking  along  the  banks 
of  the  river,  I made  a final  effort  to  obtain  her  par- 
don. I begged  Jacques  to  take  his  sister  on  in  front, 
I left  the  count  to  walk  alone,  and,  leading  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  toward  the  ferry-boat  : 

“ Henriette,”  I said,  “one  word,  for  pity’s  sake, 
or  I shall  throw  myself  into  the  Indre  ! I have  erred, 
(31 5) 


3i6 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


it  is  true  ; but  do  I not  imitate  the  dog  in  his  sublime 
attachment ! like  him  I come  back,  like  him  full  of 
shame ; if  he  does  wrong,  he  is  punished,  but  he 
adores  the  hand  which  strikes  him  ; crush  me,  but 
give  me  back  your  heart — ” 

“ Poor  child  ! ” she  said,  “ are  you  not  always  my 
son  ? ” 

She  took  my  arm  and  silently  overtook  Jacques 
and  Madeleine,  with  whom  she  returned  to  Cloche- 
gourde  through  the  vineyard,  leaving  me  to  the 
count,  who  began  to  talk  politics  apropos  of  his  neigh- 
bors. 

“ Let  us  go  in,”  I said,  “ your  head  is  bare,  and 
the  evening  dew  might  do  some  harm.” 

“ You  pity  me,  you  do,  my  dear  Felix  ! ” he  re- 
plied, mistaking  my  motive,  “ my  wife  has  never 
tried  to  console  me,  from  system  perhaps.” 

Once  she  never  would  have  left  me  alone  with 
her  husband ; now,  I had  to  seek  excuses  to  rejoin 
her.  She  was  with  her  children,  busy  explaining 
the  rules  of  backgammon  to  Jacques. 

“ There,”  said  the  count,  always  jealous  of  the 
affection  that  she  bore  her  two  children,  “there  are 
those  for  whom  I am  always  neglected.  Husbands, 
my  dear  Felix,  always  get  the  worst  of  it ; the  most 
virtuous  of  wives  always  seeks  means  of  satisfying 
her  need,  of  frustrating  conjugal  affection.” 

She  continued  her  caresses  without  replying. 

“ Jacques,”  he  said,  “ come  here  ! ” 

Jacques  made  some  demur. 

“Your  father  wants  you,  go,  my  son,”  said  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


317 


mother,  giving  him  a push. 

“ They  love  me  to  order,”  continued  the  old  man, 
who  sometimes  perceived  his  position. 

“ Monsieur,”  she  replied,  passing  her  hand  sev- 
eral times  over  Madeleine's  hair  which  was  dressed 
en  belle  Ferronnihe , “ do  not  be  unjust  to  the  poor 
women  ; life  is  not  always  easy  for  them  to  bear, 
and  it  may  be  that  children  are  a mother's  vir- 
tue.” 

“ My  dear,”  replied  the  count,  who  plumed  him- 
self on  being  logical,  “what  you  say  signifies  that, 
without  their  children,  women  would  fail  in  virtue 
and  leave  their  husbands  in  the  lurch.” 

The  countess  hastily  rose  and  took  Madeleine  out 
on  the  porch. 

“ This  is  matrimony,  my  dear,”  said  the  count. 
“ Do  you  mean  to  infer  by  your  going  out  like  this 
that  I am  talking  nonsense  ? ” he  cried,  taking  his 
son  by  the  hand  and  going  out  on  the  porch  beside 
his  wife,  at  whom  he  glared  furiously. 

“ On  the  contrary,  monsieur,  you  frightened  me. 
Your  reflection  caused  me  a frightful  pang,”  she  said 
in  a hollow  voice,  giving  me  a guilty  look,  “ if  virtue 
does  not  consist  in  sacrificing  one's  self  for  one's  chil- 
dren and  one’s  husband,  what  then  is  virtue  ? ” 

“ To  sa-cri-fice  one's  self!  ” retorted  the  count, 
wrenching  his  victim’s  heart  with  each  syllable. 
“Whatever  do  you  sacrifice  to  your  children? 
whatever  do  you  sacrifice  to  me  ? who  ? what  ? 
Answer ! Will  you  answer  me  ? What  is  going  on 
here  ? What  do  you  mean  ? ” 


3i8 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ Monsieur/’  she  replied,  “ would  you  be  content 
with  being  loved  for  the  love  of  God,  or  with  know- 
ing your  wife  to  be  virtuous  for  the  sake  of  virtue 
itself  ? ” 

“ Madame  is  right,”  I said,  speaking  in  a quiver- 
ing voice  that  vibrated  in  these  two  hearts,  and  in 
which  breathed  my  eternally  ruined  hopes  but  which 
I composed  by  the  expression  of  the  intensest  of  all 
sorrows,  the  dull  cry  of  which  put  an  end  to  this 
quarrel,  just  as,  when  the  lion  roars,  all  is  hushed. 

“ Yes,  the  greatest  privilege  that  reason  has  con- 
ferred upon  us  is  that  of  being  able  to  attribute  our 
virtues  to  the  beings  whose  happiness  is  our  own 
handiwork,  and  whom  we  make  happy  neither 
through  selfish  motives  nor  duty,  but  through  an 
inexhaustible  and  ungrudging  affection.” 

A tear  glistened  in  Henriette’s  eyes. 

“ And,  dear  Count,  if  by  chance  a woman  were 
involuntarily  subjected  to  some  feeling  alien  to  those 
society  imposes  upon  her,  you  must  admit  that  the 
more  irresistible  the  feeling,  the  more  virtuous  she  is 
in  stifling  it,  in  sacrificing  herself  to  her  children  and 
to  her  husband.  This  theory,  however,  is  neither 
applicable  to  me,  who  unfortunately  present  an  ex- 
ample of  the  contrary,  nor  to  you  whom  it  will 
never  concern.” 

A moist  and  burning  hand  was  laid  upon  my  hand 
and  pressed  it  silently. 

“You  have  a fine  heart,  Felix,”  said  the  count, 
who  not  ungracefully  passed  his  arm  round  his 
wife’s  waist  and  drew  her  gently  toward  him  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


319 


say : “ My  dear,  forgive  a poor  invalid  who  no 
doubt  wishes  to  be  loved  more  than  he  deserves.” 

“ There  are  hearts  which  are  all  generosity,”  she 
replied,  leaning  her  head  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
count,  who  took  these  words  to  himself. 

This  mistake  gave  the  countess  I know  not  what 
shock ; her  comb  fell  out,  her  hair  became  undone, 
she  turned  pale ; her  husband,  who  was  supporting 
her,  uttered  a kind  of  roar  as  he  felt  her  swooning, 
picked  her  up  as  if  she  were  his  daughter  and 
carried  her  to  the  salon  sofa,  where  we  all  sur- 
rounded her.  Henriette  kept  my  hand  in  hers,  as 
if  to  tell  me  that  we  alone  knew  the  secret  of  this 
scene,  seemingly  so  simple,  but  so  appalling  on  ac- 
count of  her  anguish  of  mind. 

“ I am  wrong,”  she  said  in  a low  voice  when  the 
count  had  left  us  alone  for  a moment  to  go  and  ask 
for  a glass  of  orange-flower  water.  “ I have  been 
more  than  wrong  toward  you,  whom  I have  tried 
to  discourage  when  I ought  to  have  welcomed 
you  freely.  Dear,  yours  is  an  adorable  goodness 
that  I alone  can  appreciate.  Yes,  I know,  there  are 
acts  of  kindness  which  are  inspired  by  passion. 
Men  have  various  ways  of  being  kind : they  are 
kind  through  indifference,  through  impulse,  through 
calculation,  through  indolence  of  character ; but  you, 
my  friend,  you  have  just  shown  absolute  kind- 
ness.” 

“ If  so,”  I said,  “ you  must  know  that  all  that  I 
may  have  of  nobleness  in  me  comes  from  you. 
Surely  you  remember  that  I am  your  work  ? ” 


320 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


‘ ' These  words  are  enough  for  a woman’s  happi- 
ness/’ she  replied,  just  as  the  count  returned. — “ I 
am  better/’  she  said,  getting  up,  “I  must  have 
air.” 

We  all  went  down  to  the  terrace,  sweet  with  the 
smell  of  the  acacias  which  were  still  flowering.  She 
had  taken  my  right  arm  and  was  pressing  it  against 
her  heart  as  if  to  convey  sad  thoughts  ; but  according 
to  her  own  expression,  it  was  a sadness  that  she 
liked.  No  doubt  she  would  have  liked  to  be  alone  with 
me  ; but  her  imagination,  unskilled  in  womanly  arti- 
fice, suggested  no  means  of  sending  away  her  children 
and  her  husband  ; so  we  talked  on  indifferent  mat- 
ters, whilst  she  was  racking  her  brains  to  contrive 
a moment  in  which  she  might  at  last  unburden  her 
heart  to  mine.  “ It  is  a very  long  time  since  I went 
for  a drive,”  she  finally  said,  seeing  the  beauty  of 
the  evening,  " Monsieur,  please  give  the  orders  so 
that  1 may  go  for  a turn.” 

She  knew  that  before  prayer-time  any  explanation 
would  be  impossible,  and  she  was  afraid  lest  the 
count  should  want  to  play  backgammon.  She  might 
indeed  meet  me  on  this  warm,  scented  terrace,  when 
her  husband  had  gone  to  bed ; but  perhaps  she 
feared  to  remain  beneath  these  shadows  traversed 
by  the  voluptuous  gleams,  to  walk  along  the  balu- 
strade whence  our  eyes  could  embrace  the  whole 
course  of  the  Indre  through  the  meadow.  Just  as 
a darkly-vaulted,  silent  cathedral  invokes  prayer,  so 
does  moonlit  foliage,  perfumed  with  penetrating 
fragrance  and  quickened  by  the  indistinct  sounds  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


321 


spring,  stir  the  heartstrings  and  weaken  the  will. 
The  country,  which  calms  the  passions  of  old  men, 
excites  those  of  youthful  hearts  ; we  knew  it ! Two 
strokes  of  a bell  announced  the  hour  of  prayer,  the 
countess  winced. 

“ My  dear  Henriette,  what  is  the  matter  ? ” 

“ Henriette  exists  no  more/’  she  replied,  “ do  not 
bring  her  to  life  again,  she  was  exacting,  capricious  ; 
now  you  have  a peaceful  friend  whose  virtue  has 
just  been  strengthened  by  the  words  that  Heaven 
dictated  to  you.  We  will  talk  about  all  this  later 
on.  Let  us  be  punctual  at  prayers.  To-day,  it  is 
my  turn  to  say  them.” 

When  the  countess  pronounced  the  words  with 
which  she  asked  for  God’s  succor  against  the  ad- 
versities of  life,  she  clothed  them  with  an  accent 
which  did  not  strike  me  alone  ; she  seemed  to  have 
availed  herself  of  her  gift  of  second  sight  to  foresee 
the  terrible  emotion  by  which  she  was  to  be  over- 
come at  a blunder  caused  by  my  forgetfulness  of  my 
agreement  with  Arabella. 

“ We  have  time  to  play  three  rubbers  before  the 
horses  are  harnessed,”  said  the  count,  dragging  me 
off  to  the  salon.  “ You  shall  go  driving  with  my 
wife  ; as  for  me,  I shall  go  to  bed.” 

Like  all  our  games,  this  one  was  stormy.  From 
her  own  room,  or  Madeleine’s,  the  countess  could 
hear  her  husband’s  voice. 

“You  Take  a strange  advantage  of  hospitality,” 
she  said  to  the  count  when  she  returned  to  the 
salon. 

21 


322 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I looked  at  her  with  a stupefied  stare,  I could  not 
grow  used  to  her  harshness ; in  former  days  she 
would  certainly  have  carefully  abstained  from  screen- 
ing me  from  the  count's  tyranny  : in  days  gone  by, 
she  loved  to  see  me  sharing  her  sufferings  and  endur- 
ing them  patiently  for  love  of  her. 

“ I would  give  my  life,”  I whispered  in  her  ear, 
“to  hear  you  once  more  murmuring:  Poor  dear! 
poor  dear!  ” 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  at  the  recollection  of  the 
hour  to  which  I alluded ; her  glance  crept  toward 
me,  but  furtively,  and  it  expressed  the  joy  of  the 
woman  who  sees  the  most  fleeting  utterances  of  her 
heart'preferred  to  the  deep  delights  of  another  love. 
Then,  just  as  at  every  other  time  when  I endured 
any  similar  wrong,  I forgave  her  upon  feeling  my- 
self understood.  The  count  was  losing,  he  said  he 
was  tired  so  as  to  be  able  to  forsake  the  game,  and 
we  went  to  stroll  round  the  lawn  until  the  carriage 
should  be  ready ; the  moment  he  had  left  us,  joy 
beamed  so  brightly  upon  my  face,  that  the  countess 
gave  me  a look  of  inquiry  and  astonishment. 

“ Henriette  does  exist,”  I said,  “lam  still  loved  ; 
you  wound  me  with  the  evident  intention  of  break- 
ing my  heart ; I may  yet  be  happy  ! ” 

“ But  a shred  of  the  woman  remained,”  she  said 
with  terror,  “and  you  are  removing  it  at  this 
very  moment.  Thank  God ! for  He  gives  me 
courage  to  endure  my  just  martyrdom.  Yes,  I still 
love  you  too  well,  I was  about  to  fall,  the  English- 
woman shows  me  an  abyss.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  323 

Just  then,  we  got  into  the  carriage,  and  the 
coachman  asked  for  orders. 

“ Go  the  way  of  Chinon  through  the  avenue,  you 
will  bring  us  back  by  the  moors  of  Charlemagne 
and  the  road  to  Sache.” 

“ What  day  is  it?  ” I said  over-eagerly. 

“ Saturday/’ 

“ Then  do  not  go  by  there,  madame  ; Saturday 
nights,  the  road  is  full  of  poulterers  going  to  Tours, 
and  we  should  meet  their  carts.” 

“Do  as  I tell  you,”  she  rejoined,  looking  at  the 
coachman. 

We  were  too  familiar  with  the  intonations  of  each 
other’s  voice,  however  infinite  they  might  be,  to  be 
able  to  disguise  the  slightest  emotion  from  each 
other.  Henriette  had  understood  all. 

“You  did  not  think  of  the  poulterers  in  selecting 
this  night,”  she  said  with  a slight  tinge  of  irony. 
“Lady  Dudley  is  in  Tours.  Do  not  lie,  she  is 
waiting  for  you  near  here.  What  day  is  it  ? the 
poulterers!  the  carts!”  she  went  on.  “Did  you 
ever  make  such  observations  when  we  went  out 
before?  ” 

“ They  prove  that  I forget  everything  at  Cloche- 
gourde,”  I replied  simply. 

“ She  is  expecting  you?  ” she  continued. 

“Yes.” 

“ At  what  time?  ” 

“ Between  eleven  and  midnight.” 

“Where?” 

“ On  the  moors.” 


324 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ Do  not  deceive  me,  is  it  not  beneath  the  walnut- 
tree?  ” 

“ On  the  moors.” 

“ We  will  go,”  she  said,  “ I will  see  her.” 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  I looked  upon  my  life 
as  being  definitely  arrested.  In  a moment  I resolved 
to  put  an  end  by  a complete  marriage  with  Lady 
Dudley,  to  the  painful  struggle  which  was  threaten- 
ing to  exhaust  my  sensibility,  and  to  destroy  by  so 
many  repeated  shocks  those  voluptuous  refinements 
which  are  like  fruit-blossoms.  My  savage  silence 
hurt  the  countess,  whose  whole  grandeur  I did  not 
yet  understand. 

“ Do  not  be  angry  with  me,”  she  said  in  her  golden 
voice,  “this,  dear,  is  my  punishment.  You  will 
never  be  loved  as  you  are  here,”  she  continued,  put- 
ting her  hand  to  her  heart.  “ Have  I not  told  you  ? 
The  Marquise  Dudley  has  saved  me.  For  her  the 
pollution,  I do  not  envy  her  at  all.  For  me  the 
glorious  love  of  the  angels  ! I have  traversed  vast 
regions  since  your  arrival.  I have  solved  life.  Exalt 
the  soul,  and  you  torture  it ; the  higher  you  go,  the 
less  sympathy  you  meet  with  ; instead  of  suffering 
in  the  valley,  you  suffer  aloft  like  the  soaring  eagle 
bearing  in  its  heart  the  arrow  discharged  by  some 
clumsy  shepherd.  1 see  now  that  heaven  and  earth 
are  incompatible.  Yes,  to  him  who  may  live  in  the 
celestial  zone,  God  alone  is  possible.  Therefore  our 
souls  should  be  weaned  from  all  earthly  things.  One 
must  love  one’s  friends  as  one  loves  one’s  children, 
for  themselves  and  not  for  one’s  self.  The  /causes  all 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  325 

the  sorrows  and  the  disappointments.  My  heart  shall 
go  higher  than  the  eagle  ; there  is  a love  there  which 
will  never  deceive  me.  As  to  living  the  earthly  life, 
it  debases  us  too  much  by  causing  the  egoism  of  the 
senses  to  dominate  over  the  spirituality  of  the  angel 
within  us.  The  pleasures  afforded  by  passion  are 
terribly  tempestuous,  paid  for  with  enervating  anx- 
ieties which  destroy  the  springs  of  the  soul.  I 
went  to  the  brink  of  the  sea  where  these  tempests 
toss  ; I saw  them  too  closely  ; they  have  often  en- 
veloped me  in  their  mists,  the  surge  has  not  always 
broken  at  my  feet,  I have  felt  its  fierce  heart-chilling 
grasp  ; I must  retire  to  the  heights,  I should  perish 
beside  this  vast  sea.  In  you,  as  in  all  those  who 
have  distressed  me,  I see  the  guardian  of  my  virtue. 
My  life  has  been  mingled  with  afflictions  that  have 
been  happily  proportioned  to  my  strength,  and  has 
thus  been  kept  pure  from  bad  passions,  without  se- 
ductive repose  and  always  prepared  for  God.  Our 
attachment  was  the  foolish  attempt,  the  effort  of  two 
simple  children  trying  to  satisfy  their  affection,  men 
and  God. — Folly,  Felix  ! — Ah  ! " she  said,  after  a 
pause,  “ what  does  this  woman  call  you  ? " 

“ Amedeo/'  I replied,  “ Felix  is  a being  apart,  who 
will  never  belong  to  anyone  but  you." 

“ Henriette  dies  hard,"  she  said,  breaking  into  a 
seraphic  smile.  “But,"  she  continued,  “she  will 
perish  in  the  first  effort  of  the  humble  Christian,  of 
the  proud  mother,  of  the  woman  of  the  once  totter- 
ing but  now  strengthened  virtue.  What  shall  I say  ? 
Well  then,  yes,  my  life  is  consistent  with  itself  in 


326 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


its  most  important  particulars  as  in  its  most  insignifi- 
cant. The  heart  upon  which  I should  have  fastened 
the  early  roots  of  tenderness,  the  heart  of  my 
mother,  was  closed  to  me,  in  spite  of  my  persistence 
in  trying  to  find  one  chink  by  which  to  insinuate  my- 
self. I was  a girl,  I came  after  three  dead  boys, 
and  I vainly  tried  to  fill  their  place  in  my  parents’ 
affection  ; but  in  no  way  did  I heal  the  wound  dealt 
to  the  family  pride.  When,  after  this  gloomy  child- 
hood, I made  the  acquaintance  of  my  adorable  aunt, 
death  soon  took  her  from  me.  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf,  to  whom  I am  vowed,  has  constantly  afflicted 
me,  without  intermission,  without  knowing  it,  poor 
man  ! His  love  has  the  same  naive  selfishness  as 
that  felt  for  us  by  our  children.  He  is  not  in  the 
secret  of  the  evils  he  brings  upon  me,  he  is  always 
forgiven  ! My  children,  those  dear  children  who  are 
ingrafted  into  my  flesh  through  all  their  sufferings, 
into  my  soul  through  all  their  qualities,  and  into  my 
nature  through  their  innocent  pleasures  ; have  not 
these  children  been  given  to  me  to  show  how  much 
force  and  patience  there  is  in  a mother’s  breast  ? 
Oh  ! yes,  my  children  are  my  virtues  1 You  know 
whether  I am  scourged  by  them,  in  them,  and  in 
spite  of  them.  To  become  a mother,  for  me,  was 
to  buy  the  right  to  always  suffer.  When  Hagar 
cried  in  the  desert,  an  angel  caused  a pure  spring  to 
gush  out  for  this  too-favored  slave ; but  for  me, 
when  the  limpid  source  toward  which — do  you 
remember  ? — you  tried  to  guide  me,  came  to  glide 
around  Clochegourde,  it  gave  me  nothing  but  bitter 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


327 


waters.  Yes,  you  have  inflicted  unheard-of  suffering 
upon  me.  God  will  doubtless  forgive  one  to  whom 
affection  is  unknown  save  through  sorrow.  But,  if 
the  keenest  pains  that  1 have  felt  have  been  imposed 
by  you,  I may  have  deserved  them.  God  is  notun- 
just.  Ah  ! yes,  Felix,  a stolen  kiss  on  the  brow, 
may  perhaps  involve  a sin ! Perhaps  one  must 
make  severe  atonement  for  the  steps  one  has 
taken  ahead  of  one’s  children  and  husband,  when 
one  has  gone  walking  in  the  evening  so  as  to  be 
alone  with  the  memories  and  thoughts  that  did  not 
belong  to  them,  and  when  in  so  walking  the  soul  was 
united  to  another  ! When  the  inner  being  contracts 
and  shrinks  so  as  to  occupy  none  but  the  place  one 
tenders  to  embraces,  perhaps  it  is  the  worst  of 
crimes  ! When  a woman  bends  down  to  receive  her 
husband’s  kiss  on  her  hair  so  as  to  neutralize  her 
forehead,  it  is  a crime  ! It  is  a crime  to  forge  one’s 
self  a future  by  relying  upon  death,  a crime  to  pic- 
ture to  one’s  self  in  the  future  a maternity  without 
alarms,  beautiful  children  playing  in  the  evenings 
with  a father  worshipped  by  the  whole  family,  be- 
neath the  softened  eyes  of  a happy  mother.  Yes,  I 
have  sinned,  deeply  sinned  ! I liked  the  penances 
inflicted  by  the  Church,  which  were  not  enough  to 
redeem  those  faults  for  which  the  priest  was  doubt- 
less too  indulgent.  God,  no  doubt,  has  placed  the 
punishment  in  the  very  core  of  all  these  errors  by 
entrusting  His  vengeance  to  him  for  whom  they  were 
committed.  Did  I not  promise  myself  by  giving  my 
hair  ? Why  did  I love  to  wear  a white  dress  ? be- 


328 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


cause  in  this  way  I thought  I was  more  your  lily  ; 
had  you  not  seen  me,  here,  the  first  time,  in  a white 
dress  ? Alas  ! I have  loved  my  children  less,  for  all 
intense  affection  is  snatched  from  lawful  affections. 
So  you  see,  Felix ! all  suffering  has  its  signifi- 
cance. Strike,  strike  harder  than  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  and  my  children  have  done.  This  woman 
is  an  instrument  of  God’s  wrath,  I will  accost 
her  without  hatred,  I will  smile  upon  her ; at 
the  risk  of  ceasing  to  be  a Christian,  a wife  and  a 
mother,  I ought  to  love  her.  If,  as  you  say,  I have 
been  able  to  contribute  toward  preserving  your 
heart  from  the  contact  which  would  have  robbed  it 
of  its  bloom,  this  Englishwoman  could  not  hate  me. 
A woman  ought  to  love  the  mother  of  him  she  loves, 
and  I am  your  mother.  What  have  I desired  in 
your  heart  ? the  place  that  Madame  de  Vandenesse 
left  empty.  Oh  ! yes,  you  have  always  complained 
of  my  coldness  ! Yes,  indeed  I am  nothing  but  your 
mother.  So  forgive  me  the  involuntary  harshness  I 
showed  you  on  your  arrival,  for  a mother  should  re- 
joice at  knowing  her  son  to  be  so  well  beloved.” 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  my  bosom,  repeating : 

“ Forgive  me  ! forgive  me!” 

Then  I heard  strange  accents.  It  was  neither  her 
girlish  voice  and  its  joyous  notes,  nor  her  womanly 
voice  and  its  despotic  terminations,  nor  the  sighing 
of  the  saddened  mother ; it  was  heartrending,  a new 
voice  for  new  sorrows. 

“As  to  you,  Felix,”  she  continued,  brightening, 
“ you  are  the  friend  who  can  do  no  wrong.  Ah  l 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


329 


you  have  lost  nothing  in  my  heart,  do  not  blame 
yourself  in  any  way,  do  not  feel  the  least  remorse. 
Is  it  not  the  height  of  selfishness  to  ask  you  to 
sacrifice  the  most  tremendous  pleasures  to  an  im- 
possible future,  since  in  order  to  enjoy  them  a woman 
abandons  her  children,  abdicates  her  rank,  and  re- 
nounces eternity  ? How  many  times  have  I not 
thought  you  superior  to  myself!  You  were  grand 
and  noble ; I,  1 was  petty  and  criminal ! Come, 
now  it  is  all  settled,  I can  never  be  anything  to 
you  but  a lofty  light,  sparkling  and  cold,  but  un- 
changeable. Only,  Felix,  do  not  let  me  be  alone  in 
loving  the  brother  whom  I have  chosen.  Love  me 
too  ! The  love  of  a sister  has  no  unpleasant  mor- 
row, no  trying  moments.  You  will  never  need  to 
lie  to  this  fond  soul  who  will  live  upon  your  beautiful 
life,  who  will  never  neglect  to  grieve  over  your  sor- 
rows, who  will  rejoice  in  your  joys,  who  will  love  the 
women  who  make  you  happy  and  will  be  angry  over 
any  betrayal.  As  for  me,  I have  never  had  a 
brother  to  love  in  this  way.  Be  noble  enough  to 
lay  aside  all  pride,  to  merge  our  attachment,  which 
has  hitherto  been  so  uncertain  and  stormy,  into  this 
gentle  and  holy  affection.  In  this  way  I can  yet  live. 
I will  begin  first  by  clasping  Lady  Dudley's  hand." 

She  did  not  weep,  she  ! whilst  pronouncing  these 
words  full  of  a bitter  knowledge,  and  with  which,  by 
snatching  away  the  last  veil  which  hid  from  me  her 
soul  and  its  sorrows,  she  proved  to  me  how  manifold 
were  the  links  which  had  bound  her  to  me,  and  how 
many  strong  chains  I had  severed.  We  were  in 


330 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


such  a delirium,  that  we  paid  no  sort  of  attention  to 
the  rain  which  was  falling  in  torrents. 

“Will  not  Madame  la  Comtesse  step  in  here  a 
moment  ? ” said  the  coachman,  pointing  to  the  prin- 
cipal inn  of  Ballan. 

She  gave  a sign  of  assent,  and  we  remained  about 
half  an  hour  under  the  roof  of  the  entrance,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  the  people  of  the  inn,  who 
wondered  why  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  abroad  at 
eleven  o’clock  at  night.  Was  she  going  to  Tours  ? 
or  was  she  on  her  way  back  ? When  the  storm 
was  over,  and  the  rain  converted  into  what  at  Tours 
is  termed  a brouee , which  did  not  prevent  the  moon 
from  illuminating  the  upper  mists  that  were  rapidly 
carried  away  by  the  wind  from  above,  the  coach- 
man came  out  and,  to  my  great  joy,  proceeded  to 
return  the  same  way. 

“Follow  my  orders,”  cried  the  countess,  softly. 

So  we  took  the  road  of  the  plains  of  Charlemagne, 
where  the  rain  began  again.  Halfway  across  the 
moor,  1 heard  the  barking  of  Arabella’s  favorite 
dog ; a horse  suddenly  sprang  out  from  beneath  a 
clump  of  oaks,  cleared  the  road  at  a bound,  jumped 
the  ditch  hollowed  out  by  the  proprietors  to  dis- 
tinguish their  respective  plots  amid  those  waste 
lands  that  they  believed  capable  of  culture,  and 
Lady  Dudley  took  up  her  position  on  the  moor  to 
see  the  barouche  pass. 

“What  delight  to  wait  like  this  for  one’s  love, 
when  one  can  do  so  guiltlessly  ! ” said  Henriette. 

Lady  Dudley  knew  by  the  barking  of  the  dog 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


331 


that  I was  in  the  carriage  ; no  doubt  she  thought 
that  I was  coming  to  fetch  her  in  this  way  on  ac- 
count of  the  bad  weather ; when  we  reached  the 
spot  where  the  marchioness  was  waiting,  she  flew 
to  the  edge  of  the  path  with  the  skilful  horse- 
manship which  is  peculiar  to  her,  and  at  which 
Henriette  marvelled  as  at  something  miraculous. 
As  an  endearment,  Arabella  used  to  call  me  by  the 
last  syllable  only  of  my  name,  pronounced  in  the 
English  way,  a kind  of  appeal  which,  on  her  lips, 
had  a charm  befitting  a fairy.  She  knew  she  would 
only  be  understood  by  me  in  crying  : 

“My  Dee!” 

“ It  is  he,  madame,”  replied  the  countess,  gazing, 
under  a bright  moonbeam,  at  the  fantastic  creature 
whose  impatient  face  was  oddly  enframed  in  her 
long  uncurled  hair. 

You  know  how  rapidly  two  women  examine  each 
other.  The  Englishwoman  recognized  her  rival  and 
was  gloriously  English  ; she  included  us  both  in  a 
look  full  of  her  English  scorn  and  disappeared  across 
the  heath  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow. 

“ Quick ! to  Clochegourde  ! ” cried  the  countess, 
to  whom  this  harsh  glance  had  been  like  a blow  of 
an  axe  upon  the  heart. 

The  coachman  returned  so  as  to  take  the  Chinon 
road,  which  was  better  than  that  of  Sache.  As  the 
barouche  skirted  the  moors  anew,  we  heard  the 
furious  gallop  of  Arabella’s  horse  and  the  steps  of 
her  dog.  They  were  all  three  going  close  to  the 
woods,  on  the  other  side  of  the  heath. 


332 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“She  is  going,  you  are  losing  her  forever, ” said 
Henriette. 

“Well,  then,”  I replied,  “ let  her  go!  She  will 
not  have  a single  regret.” 

“ Oh  ! wretched  women  ! ” cried  the  countess, 
expressing  her  sympathetic  horror.  “ But  where  is 
she  going  ? ” 

“To  la  Grenadiere,  a little  house  near  Saint- 
Cyr,”  I said. 

“ She  goes  alone,”  continued  Henriette  in  a tone 
which  convinced  me  that  women  fancy  themselves 
united  in  love  and  never  abandon  each  other. 

Just  as  we  entered  the  avenue  of  Clochegourde, 
Arabella’s  dog  yapped  joyously,  running  up  to  meet 
the  barouche. 

“She  has  outstripped  us!”  cried  the  countess. 
Then  she  resumed,  after  a pause  : 

“I  have  never  seen  a more  beautiful  woman! 
What  hands  and  what  a figure  ! Her  complexion 
outshines  the  lily,  and  her  eyes  gleam  like  diamonds  ! 
But  she  rides  too  well,  she  must  love  to  display  her 
strength.  1 think  she  is  active  and  violent ; then 
she  seems  to  me  to  defy  the  proprieties  a little  too 
boldly  ; the  woman  who  recognizes  no  law  is  in  great 
danger  of  minding  nothing  but  her  own  caprices. 
Those  who  are  so  fond  of  display  and  activity,  have 
not  received  the  gift  of  constancy.  According  to  my 
ideas,  love  requires  more  tranquillity ; I have  pic- 
tured it  to  myself  as  an  immense  lake  in  which  the 
lead  can  find  no  bottom,  where  the  storms  may  be 
violent,  but  rare,  and  restrained  within  impassable 


LADY  DUDLEY,  MME.  DE  MORTSAUF 
AND  FELIX 


You  know  hozv  rapidly  tzvo  women  examine  each 
other.  The  Englishwoman  recognized  her  rival  and 
was  gloriously  English ; she  included  us  both  in  a 
look  full  of  her  English  scorn  and  disappeared 
across  the  heath  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow. 

“Quick!  to  Clochegourde  ! ” cried  the  countess , to 
whom  this  harsh  glance  had  been  like  a blow  of  an 
axe  upon  the  heart. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


333 


boundaries  ; in  which  two  beings  live  in  a flowery 
island,  far  from  the  world,  whose  luxury  and  glare 
offend  them.  But  love  has  to  take  the  impress  of 
characters,  perhaps  I am  wrong.  If  the  principles 
of  nature  conform  to  the  moulds  required  by  climate, 
why  should  it  not  be  so  with  feelings  in  individuals  ? 
No  doubt,  sentiments,  which  on  the  whole  follow  the 
universal  law,  differ  in  expression  only.  Every 
person  has  his  own  method.  The  marchioness  is 
the  strong-minded  woman  who  overleaps  space  and 
acts  with  the  force  of  a man  ; who  would  deliver  her 
lover  from  captivity,  and  who  would  kill  jailers, 
guards  and  executioners ; whilst  some  creatures 
only  know  how  to  love  with  their  whole  soul ; in 
the  hour  of  danger,  they  kneel,  pray  and  die. 
Which  of  these  two  women  do  you  like  best  ? That 
is  the  whole  point.  Oh  ! yes ! the  marchioness 
loves  you,  she  has  made  so  many  sacrifices  for  you  ! 
Perhaps  it  is  she  who  will  always  love  you,  when 
you  no  longer  love  her ! ” 

“ Allow  me,  dear  angel,  to  repeat  what  you  said 
one  day  to  me  : how  do  you  know  these  things  ? ” 

“Each  sorrow  has  its  own  lesson,  and  I have 
suffered  on  so  many  points,  that  my  knowledge  is 
vast.” 

My  servant  had  heard  the  order  given,  he  thought 
we  should  return  by  the  terraces,  and  was  holding 
my  horse  all  ready  in  the  avenue  : Arabella’s  dog 
had  scented  the  horse  ; and  his  mistress,  led  by  very 
justifiable  curiosity,  had  followed  him  across  the 
woods,  where  no  doubt  she  had  hidden. 


334  THE  lily  of  the  valley 

“Go  and  make  your  peace, ” said  Henriette, 
smiling,  and  without  betraying  any  melancholy. 
“Tell  her  how  much  she  was  mistaken  as  to  my 
intentions  ; I wanted  to  reveal  to  her  the  full  worth 
of  the  treasure  which  has  fallen  to  her ; my  heart 
harbors  none  but  kindly  feelings  for  her,  and  is 
particularly  free  from  any  anger  or  scorn  ; explain 
to  her  that  I am  her  sister  and  not  her  rival. ” 

“ I will  not  go  at  all ! ” I cried. 

“ Have  you  never  felt,”  she  said,  with  the  spirited 
pride  of  a martyr,  “that  certain  niceties  stop  little 
short  of  insult  ? Go,  go!” 


I then  hurried  toward  Lady  Dudley  to  find  out 
what  sort  of  humor  she  was  in. 

“ If  she  should  get  angry  and  leave  me!”  ! 
thought,  “ I would  come  back  to  Clochegourde.” 
The  dog  led  me  under  an  oak-tree,  from  which 
the  marchioness  rushed  out,  crying  : 

“ Away  ! Away  ! ” 

All  that  I could  do  was  to  follow  her  as  far  as 
Saint-Cyr,  which  we  reached  at  midnight. 

“ That  lady  is  in  perfect  health,”  said  Arabella 
when  she  had  dismounted.  Only  those  who  have 
known  her  can  imagine  all  the  sarcasm  contained  in 
this  remark,  drily  ejaculated  with  an  air  which 
meant  to  say  : “ I,  I should  have  been  dead  ! ” 

“ 1 forbid  you  to  venture  a single  one  of  your  triple- 
edged  jokes  about  Madame  de  Mortsauf,”  I replied. 

“ Could  it  displease  your  Grace  to  hear  a remark 
upon  the  perfect  health  enjoyed  by  a being  dear  to 
your  precious  heart  ? Frenchwomen,  they  say, 
hate  even  down  to  their  lover’s  dog ; in  England, 
we  love  all  that  our  sovereign  lord  loves,  we  hate  all 
that  he  hates,  because  we  are  one  with  our  lords. 
Pray  allow  me  then,  to  love  this  lady  as  much  as 
(335) 


336  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

you  love  her  yourself.  Only,  dear  boy,”  she  said, 
twining  her  rain-soaked  arms  around  me,  “ if  you 
were  to  betray  me,  1 should  be  neither  standing  nor 
lying,  nor  in  a barouche  flanked  with  lackeys,  nor 
driving  over  the  plains  of  Charlemagne,  nor  in  any 
one  of  the  plains  of  any  country  in  any  world,  nor 
in  my  bed,  nor  beneath  the  roof  of  my  fathers ! I 
should  be  no  more.  I was  born  in  Lancashire,  a 
part  of  the  country  where  the  women  die  of  love. 
To  know  you  and  to  give  you  up  ! I would  never 
surrender  you  to  any  power,  not  even  death,  for  1 
would  go  with  you.” 

She  led  me  into  her  room,  where  the  luxuries  of 
comfort  were  already  displayed. 

“Love  her,  my  dear,”  I said  with  vehemence, 
“she  loves  you,  not  in  any  scoffing  way,  but  sin- 
cerely.” 

“ Sincerely,  darling  ? ” she  said,  unlacing  her  rid- 
ing-habit. 

With  lover-like  vanity,  I wished  to  reveal  the 
sublimity  of  Henriette’s  character  to  this  proud 
creature.  Whilst  the  lady’s  maid,  who  did  not 
know  a word  of  French,  was  arranging  her  hair,  I 
tried  to  describe  Madame  de  Mortsauf  by  giving  a 
sketch  of  her  life,  and  I repeated  the  noble  thoughts 
suggested  to  her  by  the  crisis  in  which  most  women 
become  warped  and  ill-natured.  Although  Arabella 
did  not  appear  to  be  paying  me  the  slightest  atten- 
tion, she  did  not  lose  any  one  of  my  words. 

“ I am  delighted,”  she  said  when  we  were  alone, 
“to  discover  your  taste  for  this  kind  of  Christian 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


337 


conversation  ; on  one  of  my  estates  there  is  a vicar 
who  composes  sermons  better  than  anybody,  our 
peasants  understand  them,  so  well-adapted  is  this 
prose  to  the  hearer.  To-morrow  I will  write  to  my 
father  to  send  this  worthy  man  by  steamer,  and  you 
will  find  him  in  Paris ; when  once  you  have  heard 
him,  you  will  never  want  to  listen  to  anyone  else, 
and  the  more  so  as  he,  too,  enjoys  perfect  health  ; 
his  morals  will  never  cause  you  any  of  those  shocks 
which  produce  tears,  they  flow  without  tumult,  like 
a clear  spring,  and  induce  a delicious  sleep.  Every 
night,  if  it  pleases  you,  you  can  satisfy  your  passion 
for  sermons  while  digesting  your  dinner.  English 
morality,  dear  boy,  is  as  superior  to  that  of  Touraine 
as  our  cutlery,  our  silver  and  our  horses  are  to  your 
knives  and  animals.  Do  me  the  favor  to  hear  my 
vicar,  promise  me  you  will ! I am  only  a woman, 
my  love,  I know  how  to  love,  I can  die  for  you,  if 
you  wish  ; but  I have  never  studied  at  Eton,  or  at 
Oxford,  or  at  Edinburgh  ; I am  neither  doctor,  nor 
reverend ; so  I should  not  know  how  to  prepare  a 
lecture  for  you,  I am  quite  unfit  for  it,  and  I should 
be  extremely  awkward  at  it  were  I to  try.  I do  not 
blame  you  for  your  tastes,  you  might  have  some 
more  depraved  than  this,  and  I should  try  to  con- 
form to  them  ; for  I want  you  to  find  with  me  all 
that  you  like,  pleasures  of  love,  pleasures  of  the 
table,  pleasures  of  the  church,  good  claret  and 
Christian  virtues.  Would  you  like  me  to  wear  a 
hair-shirt  to-night  ? She  is  very  fortunate,  this 
woman,  to  be  able  to  serve  you  as  morality ! In 


338  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

what  university  do  Frenchwomen  take  their  degrees  ? 
Poor  me  ! I can  only  give  myself,  I can  only  be  your 
slave — ” 

“ Then,  why  did  you  run  away  when  I wanted  to 
see  you  together  ? ” 

“ Are  you  mad,  my  Dee  ? I would  go  from 
Paris  to  Rome  disguised  as  a lackey,  I would  do  the 
most  foolish  things  for  you ; but  how  can  1 talk  in 
the  road  to  a woman  who  has  not  been  introduced  to 
me  and  who  was  about  to  preach  a sermon  in  three 
parts  ? I could  talk  with  peasants,  I could  ask  a 
workman  to  share  his  bread  with  me,  if  I were 
hungry,  I would  give  him  two  or  three  guineas  and 
all  would  be  right ; but  to  stop  a carriage,  like  the 
highway  gentlemen  in  England  ! this  is  not  in  my 
code.  Then  you  only  know  howto  love,  poor  child  ! 
you  do  not  know  how  to  live  ? However,  I am  not 
yet  exactly  like  you,  my  angel  ! I do  not  like  lectur- 
ing. But,  to  please  you,  I am  capable  of  the  greatest 
efforts.  Come  now,  be  quiet,  I will  begin  ! I will 
try  to  become  a preacher.  Beside  me,  Jeremiah  will 
soon  be  nothing  but  a buffoon.  1 shall  not  indulge 
in  any  more  caresses  unless  they  are  interlarded  with 
verses  from  the  Bible.” 

She  used  her  power,  and  took  advantage  of  it  the 
moment  she  saw  that  ardent  expression  in  my  eyes 
which  showed  itself  as  soon  as  her  sorceries  com- 
menced. She  triumphed  over  all,  and  I complacently 
set  the  grandeur  of  the  woman  who  ruins  herself, 
who  renounces  the  future  and  makes  love  her  whole 
virtue,  above  the  catholic  trickeries. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


339 


“ Then  she  loves  herself  better  than  she  loves 
you  ? ” she  said,  “ and  she  prefers  something  to  you 
which  is  not  you  ? How  can  we  attach  to  that 
which  is  part  of  ourselves  any  more  importance  than 
that  with  which  we  honor  it  ? No  woman,  however 
great  a moralist  she  may  be,  can  be  the  equal  of 
man.  Stamp  upon  us,  kill  us,  never  encumber  your 
existence  with  us.  It  is  ours  to  die,  yours  to  live, 
great  and  proud.  From  you  to  us,  the  dagger  ; from 
us  to  you,  love  and  pardon.  Does  the  sun  care 
about  the  flies  which  are  in  its  rays  and  which  take 
their  life  from  him  ? they  stay  as  long  as  they  can, 
and,  when  he  disappears,  they  die — ” 

“ Or  they  fly  away,”  I said,  interrupting  her. 

“ Or  they  fly  away/’  she  continued  with  an  in- 
difference which  would  have  stung  the  most  resolute 
of  men  to  avail  himself  of  the  singular  power  with 
which  she  invested  him.  “ Do  you  think  it  befits 
a woman  to  make  a man  swallow  slices  buttered 
with  virtue  in  order  to  persuade  him  that  religion  is 
incompatible  with  love?  Am  I then  an  infidel?  One 
either  gives  one’s  self,  or  one  refuses  one’s  self;  but 
there  is  double  torture  in  refusing  one’s  self  and 
moralizing,  which  is  contrary  to  the  law  of  every 
country.  Here,  you  will  never  have  any  but  excellent 
sandwiches  prepared  by  the  hand  of  your  servant 
Arabella,  whose  whole  morality  will  be  to  devise 
caresses  that  no  man  has  yet  experienced  and  that 
the  angels  inspire.” 

I know  of  nothing  more  conclusive  than  the  banter 
employed  by  an  Englishwoman,  she  invests  it  with 


340 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


the  eloquent  gravity,  and  the  air  of  pompous  convic- 
tion beneath  which  the  English  conceal  the  superior 
follies  of  their  life  of  prejudices.  French  witticism 
is  an  embroidery  with  which  the  women  contrive  to 
adorn  the  pleasure  they  bestow  and  the  quarrels 
they  devise  ; it  is  a moral  gaud,  as  graceful  as  their 
toilette.  But  English  witticism  is  an  acid  which  so 
thoroughly  corrodes  those  upon  whom  it  drops,  that 
it  turns  them  into  skeletons,  cleaned  and  scoured. 
The  tongue  of  a witty  Englishwoman  is  like  that  of  a 
tiger,  which  peels  the  flesh  from  the  bone  in  playful- 
ness. Mockery,  the  almighty  weapon  of  the  demon 
who  comes  and  whispers  sneeringly  : Is  that  all  ? 
leaves  a mortal  venom  in  the  wounds  that  she  opens 
at  will.  For  this  night,  Arabella  meant  to  show  her 
power  like  a sultan  who,  to  prove  his  cleverness* 
amuses  himself  by  beheading  innocent  people. 

“ My  angel,”  she  said,  when  she  had  plunged  me 
into  that  semi-torpor  in  which  all,  save  happiness, 
is  forgotten,  “ I too,  have  just  been  moralizing!  I 
have  been  wondering  whether  1 was  committing  a 
crime  in  loving  you,  whether  I was  violating  divine 
laws,  and  I have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing 
could  be  more  religious  nor  more  natural.  Why 
should  God  create  some  beings  more  beautiful  than 
others,  unless  it  be  to  show  us  that  we  ought  to 
worship  them?  It  would  be  a crime  not  to  love 
you,  for  are  you  not  an  angel?  This  lady  insults 
you  by  confounding  you  with  other  men,  the  rules 
of  morality  are  not  applicable  to  you,  God  has  set 
you  above  all.  Does  one  not  approach  nearer  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  34 1 

Him  in  loving  you?  Could  He  be  angry  with  a 
poor  woman  for  longing  for  divine  things?  Your 
great  and  luminous  heart  is  so  like  heaven,  that  I 
am  deluded  like  the  gnats  that  come  and  burn 
themselves  in  the  tapers  at  a fete  ! Would  one 
then  punish  these  for  their  error?  besides,  is  it  an 
error?  is  it  not  a noble  adoration  of  light?  They 
perish  through  excessive  veneration,  if  one  can  call 
it  perishing,  to  hurl  one's  self  at  what  one  loves.  I 
am  weak  enough  to  love  you,  whilst  this  woman  has 
the  strength  to  remain  in  her  Catholic  shrine.  Do 
not  frown  ! you  think  that  I bear  her  a grudge? 
No,  my  darling ! I admire  her  morality,  which  has 
counselled  her  to  leave  you  unfettered  and  has  thus 
enabled  me  to  conquer  you,  and  to  keep  you  for 
ever  ; for  you  are  mine  for  ever,  are  you  not?  " 

“Yes." 

“ For  ever  ? " 

“Yes." 

“ Then  you  do  me  a favor,  sultan  ? I alone  re- 
cognized your  full  value  ! You  say  she  understands 
cultivating  the  ground  ? I,  I leave  this  science  to 
the  farmers,  I would  rather  cultivate  your  affec- 
tion." 

I try  to  recall  this  fascinating  chatter  so  as  to  give 
you  a good  picture  of  this  woman,  to  bear  out  what 
I have  told  you  about  her,  and  so  let  you  into  all  the 
secret  of  the  sequel.  But  how  am  I to  describe  the 
accessories  of  these  pretty  speeches  that  you  know  ? 
There  were  follies  comparable  to  the  most  extrav- 
agant fancies  of  our  dreams ; sometimes  creations 


342  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

like  those  in  my  bouquets  : grace  combined  with 
force,  tenderness  and  its  soft  languors,  in  contrast 
to  the  volcanic  outbursts  of  passion  ; sometimes  the 
most  skilful  gradations  of  the  music  adapted  to  the 
harmony  of  our  sensualities  ; then  frolics  like  those 
of  serpents  interlaced  ; finally,  the  most  caressing 
prattle  adorned  with  the  most  lively  conceits,  all 
that  the  intellect  can  add  of  poetry  to  the  pleasures 
of  the  senses.  She  intended,  by  means  of  the  blasts 
of  her  violent  love,  to  destroy  the  impressions  left 
upon  my  heart  by  Henriette’s  pure,  devout  soul. 
The  marchioness  had  examined  the  countess  as 
thoroughly  as  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  examined 
her : they  had  both  judged  each  other  well.  The 
strength  of  the  attack  made  by  Arabella  revealed  to 
me  the  extent  of  her  fear  and  her  secret  admiration 
for  her  rival.  In  the  morning,  I found  her  with 
tearful  eyes,  she  having  passed  a sleepless  night. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ?”I  said. 

“Iam  afraid  lest  my  extreme  love  should  be  my 
ruin,”  she  replied.  “ I have  given  all.  Cleverer 
than  I,  this  woman  possesses  something  within  her 
that  you  can  desire.  If  you  prefer  her,  think  no 
more  about  me  : I will  not  annoy  you  with  my  sor- 
rows, my  remorse,  my  sufferings ; no,  I will  go  and 
die  far  away  from  you,  like  a plant  without  its  life- 
giving  sun.” 

She  managed  to  wring  protestations  of  love  from 
me  which  overwhelmed  her  with  delight.  Indeed, 
what  is  one  to  say  to  a woman  who  weeps  in  the 
morning  ? Any  harshness  at  that  time  seems  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


343 


me  to  be  infamous.  If  we  have  not  resisted  her  the 
night  before,  are  we  not  obliged  to  lie  to  her  the 
next  day,  for  the  Code  of  Mankind  makes  it  our 
duty  to  lie  in  gallantry. 

“ Well,  I am  generous/’  she  said,  wiping  away 
her  tears,  “go  back  to  her,  I do  not  want  to  owe 
you  to  the  force  of  my  love,  but  to  your  own  will. 
If  you  return  here,  I shall  believe  that  you  love  me 
as  much  as  I love  you,  which  has  always  seemed  to 
me  impossible.” 

She  succeeded  in  persuading  me  to  return  to  Cloche- 
gourde.  The  falsity  of  the  position  upon  which  I 
was  entering  could  not  be  foreseen  by  a man  sati- 
ated with  happiness.  By  refusing  to  go  to  Cloche- 
gourde,  I was  giving  Lady  Dudley  an  advantage 
over  Henriette.  Arabella  would  then  take  me  away 
to  Paris.  But  if  I did  go  there,  would  it  not  be  in- 
sulting to  Madame  de  Mortsauf  ? In  that  case,  I was 
bound  to  return  all  the  more  surely  to  Arabella. 
Has  a woman  ever  forgiven  such  acts  of  treason 
against  love  ? Unless  she  be  an  angel  descended 
from  Heaven,  and  not  the  purified  spirit  which 
returns  there,  a loving  woman  would  prefer  to  see 
her  lover  suffering  an  agony,  than  to  see  him  happy 
through  another : the  more  she  loves,  the  more  she 
will  be  hurt.  Looked  at  thus  under  both  aspects, 
my  situation,  once  I had  left  Clochegourde  to  go  to 
La  Grenadiere,  was  as  fatal  to  my  amours  of  adop- 
tion as  it  was  advantageous  to  my  amours  of  specu- 
lation. The  marchioness  had  calculated  it  all  with 
practised  subtlety.  She  confessed  to  me  later  that, 


344 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


had  Madame  de  Mortsauf  not  met  her  on  the  moors, 
she  had  meditated  compromising  me  by  prowling 
round  Clochegourde. 

The  moment  I approached  the  countess,  whom  I 
found  pale  and  dispirited  like  a person  who  has  suf- 
fered some  severe  insomnia,  I suddenly  exerted, 
not  that  tact,  but  that  sense  of  scent  which  enables 
hearts  that  are  yet  young  and  generous  to  feel  the 
import  of  those  actions  that  are  insignificant  in  the 
eyes  of  the  masses,  but  criminal  according  to  the 
statutes  of  noble  minds.  Immediately,  like  a child 
who,  having  climbed  down  into  a chasm  whilst  play- 
ing and  picking  flowers,  finds  with  anguish  that  he 
cannot  possibly  get  back  again,  and  only  sees  the 
friendly  soil  at  an  unattainable  distance,  feels  him- 
self all  alone,  at  night,  and  hears  wild  howls,  I real- 
ized that  we  were  separated  by  an  entire  universe. 
There  arose  a great  outcry  in  our  souls,  and,  as  it 
were,  a re-echo  of  the  mournful  Consummatum  est! 
which  is  cried  aloud  in  the  churches  on  Good  Friday, 
at  the  hour  the  Saviour  expired,  a horrible  scene 
which  chills  those  young  hearts  with  'whom  religion 
is  the  first  passion.  All  Henriette’s  illusions  had 
been  killed  at  a blow,  her  heart  had  suffered  a pas- 
sion. She,  so  exempt  from  pleasure,  who  had  never 
been  entwined  in  its  enervating  folds,  did  she  to-day 
divine  the  voluptuousness  of  happy  love,  that  she 
should  refuse  to  look  at  me  ? for  she  withdrew  the 
light  which  for  six  years  had  been  shining  upon  my 
life.  Did  she  then  know  that  the  source  of  the  rays 
emanating  from  our  eyes  was  in  our  souls,  to  whom 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


345 


they  acted  as  a channel  for  penetrating  one  within 
the  other  or  for  blending  as  one,  for  sundering  them- 
selves, or  for  trifling  like  two  unsuspecting  women 
who  tell  each  other  everything  ? I was  bitterly 
conscious  of  the  mistake  of  bringing  a face  upon 
which  the  wings  of  pleasure  had  sprinkled  their 
diapered  dust  into  a home  where  caresses  were  un- 
known. If,  the  night  before,  I had  left  Lady  Dudley 
to  go  off  alone  ; if  I had  come  back  to  Clochegourde, 
where  perhaps  Henriette  had  been  awaiting  me ; 
perhaps — well,  perhaps  Madame  de  Mortsauf  would 
not  have  so  cruelly  proposed  to  be  my  sister.  She 
invested  all  her  courtesies  with  the  ostentation  of  an 
exaggerated  constraint,  she  entered  violently  into 
her  role  so  as  not  to  swerve  from  it.  During  break- 
fast, she  showed  me  a thousand  attentions,  humi- 
liating attentions,  she  tended  me  as  if  I were  an  in- 
valid whom  she  pitied. 

“ You  were  out  walking  early,”  said  the  count, 
“ so  you  must  have  an  excellent  appetite,  you  who 
have  a sound  stomach  ! ” 

This  sentence,  which  did  not  entice  the  smile  of  a 
would-be  sister  from  the  lips  of  the  countess,  complete- 
ly convinced  me  of  the  absurdity  of  my  position.  It 
was  impossible  to  be  at  Clochegourde  by  day,  at 
Saint-Cyr  by  night.  Arabella  had  relied  upon  my 
delicacy  and  upon  the  dignity  of  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf. All  through  this  long  day,  I realized  how  dif- 
ficult it  is  to  become  the  friend  of  a woman  long- 
desired.  This  transition,  so  simple  when  the  years 
pave  the  way,  is  a malady  in  youth.  I was  ashamed, 


346 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I cursed  pleasure,  I would  have  liked  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  to  ask  for  my  blood.  I could  not  tear  her 
rival  to  pieces,  she  avoided  all  mention  of  her,  and 
to  speak  ill  of  Arabella  was  an  infamy  which  would 
have  earned  me  the  contempt  of  Henriette,  who  was 
magnanimous  and  noble  to  the  innermost  recesses  of 
her  heart.  After  five  years  of  delicious  intimacy, 
we  did  not  know  what  to  talk  about ; our  words 
were  not  in  touch  with  our  thoughts  ; we  were  both 
hiding  devouring  grief  from  each  other,  we,  to  whom 
sorrow  had  always  been  a faithful  interpreter.  Hen- 
riette was  affecting  a cheerful  manner  both  for  her- 
self and  for  me ; but  she  was  sad.  Although  she 
constantly  called  herself  my  sister,  and  although  she 
was  a woman,  she  could  not  hit  upon  any  idea  for 
keeping  up  the  conversation,  and  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  we  maintained  a constrained  silence.  She 
increased  my  inward  torture,  by  feigning  to  believe 
herself  to  be  this  lady’s  only  victim. 

“I  suffer  more  than  you  do/’  I said  when  the 
sister  gave  vent  to  a wholly  feminine  sarcasm. 

“ How  ? ” she  replied,  with  that  haughty  air 
which  women  put  on  when  one  tries  to  eclipse  their 
sensations. 

“ Why,  I bear  all  the  blame. ” 

There  came  a moment  when  the  countess  assumed 
a cold  and  indifferent  manner  toward  me  which 
overwhelmed  me  ; 1 resolved  to  go.  That  evening, 
on  the  terrace,  I said  good-bye  to  the  assembled  fam- 
ily. They  all  followed  me  to  the  lawn  where  my 
horse  was  pawing  the  ground,  and  from  which  they 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  347 

kept  back.  She  came  to  me  when  I had  seized  the 
bridle. 

“ Let  us  go  alone,  on  foot,  down  the  avenue,”  she 
said. 

I gave  her  my  arm,  and  we  went  out  by  the  court- 
yards, walking  slowly,  as  if  enjoying  our  combined 
movements  ; in  this  way  we  reached  a clump  of 
trees  which  shrouded  a corner  of  the  outer  walls. 

“ Good-bye,  my  love  ! ” she  said  as  she  stopped, 
laying  her  head  on  my  breast  and  throwing  her  arms 
round  my  neck.  “ Good-bye,  we  shall  never  meet 
again  ! God  has  given  me  the  melancholy  power  of 
looking  into  the  future.  Do  you  not  remember  the 
terror  which  seized  me,  one  day,  when  you  came 
back  so  handsome,  so  young,  and  I saw  you  turning 
your  back  upon  me  just  as  to-day  when  you  leave 
Clochegourde  to  go  to  La  Grenadiere  ? Well,  once 
again,  last  night,  I was  able  to  glance  into  our  desti- 
nies. Dear,  we  are  at  this  moment  speaking  of 
them  for  the  last  time.  I could  hardly  say  another 
few  words  to  you,  for  it  would  no  longer  be  my  en- 
tire self  which  would  be  speaking  to  you,  death  has 
already  smitten  something  within  me.  You  will  then 
have  robbed  my  children  of  their  mother,  take  her 
place  beside  them  ! you  can  ! Jacques  and  Made- 
leine love  you  as  if  you  had  always  made  them  suf- 
fer.” 

“ Dying!”  I said,  terrified,  looking  at  her  and 
again  detecting  the  scorching  fire  of  her  shining  eyes, 
of  which  one  can  convey  no  notion  to  those  who 
have  not  seen  their  dear  ones  attacked  by  this  awful 


348 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


malady,  save  by  comparing  her  eyes  to  globes  of 
burnished  silver.  “ Dying  ! — Henriette,  I order  you 
to  live.  You  once  demanded  solemn  declarations 
from  me,  well,  to-day  I require  one  from  you ; 
swear  to  me  to  consult  Origet  and  to  obey  him  in  all 
things—” 

“ Then  do  you  want  to  oppose  God’s  mercy  ? ” 
she  said,  breaking  in  with  the  cry  of  a despair  that 
resented  being  misunderstood. 

“ Then  you  do  not  love  me  enough  to  obey  me 
blindly  in  all  things,  like  this  miserable  lady  ? 99 

“Yes,  whatever  you  choose,”  she  said,  impelled 
by  a jealousy  that  caused  her  in  one  instant  to  over- 
leap the  boundaries  which  she  had  hitherto  re- 
spected. 

“ 1 stay  here,”  I said,  kissing  her  eyes. 

Frightened  at  this  concession,  she  escaped  from 
my  arms,  went  to  support  herself  against  a tree  ; 
then  she  returned  home,  walking  hastily,  without 
turning  her  head  ; but  I followed  her,  she  was  crying 
and  praying.  The  lawn  reached,  I took  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  respectfully.  This  unexpected  submis- 
sion touched  her. 

“I  am  yours  all  the  same,”  I said,  “for  I love 
you  as  your  aunt  loved  you.” 

She  trembled  then  as  she  violently  squeezed  my 
hand. 

“ One  look  ? ” I said,  “ just  one  more  of  our  old 
looks  ! — The  woman  who  surrenders  herself  en- 
tirely,” 1 cried,  upon  feeling  my  soul  illumined  by 
the  glance  she  gave  me,  “ gives  less  of  life  and  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  349 

heart  than  I have  just  received.  Henriette,  you  are 
the  best  beloved,  the  only  beloved.” 

“ I shall  live  ! ” she  said,  “ but  cure  yourself  too.” 
This  look  had  effaced  the  impression  of  Arabella’s 
sarcasms.  So  I was  the  dupe  of  the  two  irreconcilable 
passions  that  I have  described  to  you  and  by  which 
I was  alternately  influenced.  I loved  an  angel  and 
a devil ; two  equally  beautiful  women,  one  clothed  in 
all  the  virtues  that  we  murder  out  of  hatred  to  our 
imperfections,  the  other  in  all  the  vices  that  we  deify 
through  egotism.  Going  along  this  avenue,  turning 
round  from  time  to  time  to  gaze  once  more  at  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  leaning  against  a tree  and  surrounded 
by  her  children,  I surprised  a thrill  of  pride  in  my 
heart  at  knowing  myself  to  be  the  arbiter  of  two 
such  noble  destinies ; at  being  the  glory,  for  such 
different  reasons,  of  two  such  superior  women,  and 
at  having  inspired  such  great  passions,  that  in  each 
case  death  would  come  if  I failed  them.  This 
momentary  conceit  has  been  doubly  punished,  rest 
assured  ! I know  not  what  demon  told  me  to  wait 
beside  Arabella  for  the  moment  when  some  despera- 
tion, or  the  death  of  the  count  should  give  me  Hen- 
riette, for  Henriette  loved  me  still : her  harshness, 
her  tears,  her  remorse,  her  Christian  resignation, 
were  eloquent  traces  of  a feeling  which  could  no 
more  be  erased  from  her  heart  than  from  mine. 
Whilst  walking  down  this  pretty  avenue,  and  re- 
flecting in  this  way,  I was  no  longer  twenty-five 
years  old,  but  fifty.  Is  it  not  rather  the  young  man 
than  the  woman  who  passes  in  one  moment  from 


350 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


thirty  to  sixty?  Although  I had  chased  away  these 
evil  thoughts  in  an  instant,  they  haunted  me,  I must 
confess ! Perhaps  their  origin  was  to  be  found  in 
the  Tuileries,  beneath  the  roof  of  the  royal  closet. 
Who  could  withstand  the  blighting  spirit  of  Louis 
XVIII.,  he  who  used  to  say  that  one  has  genuine  pas- 
sions only  at  a mature  age,  because  passion  is  neither 
great  nor  violent  save  when  something  of  impotence 
is  mingled  with  it  and  then  one  feels  at  each  pleas- 
ure like  a gambler  playing  his  last  stake?  When  I 
came  to  the  end  of  the  avenue,  I turned  round  and 
rushed  through  it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  upon 
seeing.  Henriette  still  there,  alone  ! I went  to  bid 
her  a last  good-bye,  bathed  in  repentant  tears  the 
reason  of  which  was  hidden  from  her.  Honest 
tears,  unconsciously  conceded  to  those  irretrievably 
lost  loves,  to  those  virginal  emotions,  those  flowers 
of  life  which  can  never  more  revive  ; for,  later  on, 
man  no  longer  gives,  he  receives ; he  loves  himself 
in  his  mistress  ; whilst  in  youth  he  loves  his  mistress 
in  himself  : later  on,  we  inoculate  the  woman  we  love 
with  our  tastes,  and  maybe  with  our  vices ; whilst 
at  the  outset  of  life,  she  whom  we  love  confers  her 
virtues,  her  refinements  upon  us  ; she  invites  us  to 
perfection  by  a smile,  and  teaches  us  devotion  by 
her  example.  Woe  to  him  who  has  not  had  his 
Henriette  ! Woe  to  him  who  has  not  known  some 
Lady  Dudley  ! If  he  marries,  the  former  will  not 
keep  his  wife,  the  latter  will  perhaps  be  deserted  by 
his  mistress  ; but  blessed  is  he  who  can  find  the  two 
in  one  ; blessed,  Natalie,  is  the  man  whom  you  love  ! 


Upon  returning  to  Paris,  Arabella  and  I,  we  be- 
came more  intimate  than  in  the  past.  Very  soon, 
we  both  insensibly  abolished  the  laws  of  etiquette 
that  I had  prescribed  for  myself,  the  strict  observance 
of  which  often  induces  society  to  pardon  the  falsity 
of  the  position  in  which  Lady  Dudley  had  placed 
herself.  The  world,  which  so  loves  to  penetrate 
beneath  appearances,  authorizes  them  as  soon  as  it 
knows  the  secret  that  they  cover.  Lovers  who  are 
obliged  to  live  in  the  midst  of  society  will  always  be 
mistaken  in  overthrowing  those  barriers  erected  by 
the  jurisprudence  of  fashionable  circles,  mistaken  if 
they  do  not  scrupulously  observe  all  the  conven- 
tions imposed  by  custom  ; it  then  becomes  not  so 
much  a question  of  others  as  of  themselves.  The 
traversing  of  distances,  the  preserving  of  out- 
ward respect,  the  playing  of  farces,  the  obscuring 
of  the  mystery,  all  this  strategy  of  successful  love 
occupies  the  life,  renews  desire  and  protects  our 
affection  against  the  inertia  of  habit.  But  first 
passions,  essentially  thriftless,  like  young  people, 
cut  up  their  forests  entirely  instead  of  parcelling 
them  out.  Arabella  did  not  approve  of  these  hour - 
(350 


352 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


geois  ideas,  she  had  adapted  herself  to  them  to  please 
me  ; like  the  murderer  who  marks  his  victim  before- 
hand so  as  to  make  him  his  own,  she  tried  to  compro- 
mise me  before  all  Paris  so  as  to  make  me  her  sposo. 
And  so  she  exerted  her  coquetry  to  keep  me  in  her 
house,  for  she  was  not  content  with  her  fashionable 
scandal,  which,  for  want  of  proofs,  merely  en- 
couraged whisperings  behind  fans.  Seeing  her  so 
pleased  at  committing  an  indiscretion  which  was  to 
define  her  position  so  openly,  what  could  I do  but 
believe  in  her  love  ? Once  plunged  into  the  sweets 
of  an  illicit  marriage,  I was  overwhelmed  with 
despair,  for  I saw  my  life  directed  contrary  to  Hen- 
riette’s  acknowledged  ideas  and  recommendations. 
I lived  then  with  the  kind  of  rage  that  seizes  a con- 
sumptive when,  having  a presentiment  of  death,  he 
refuses  to  be  sounded.  There  was  one  corner  of 
my  heart  into  which  I could  not  retreat  without 
suffering ; an  avenging  spirit  was  incessantly  in- 
spiring me  with  thoughts  upon  which  I dared  not 
dwell.  My  letters  to  Henriette  described  this  moral 
sickness,  and  caused  her  infinite  pain.  “ At  the 
cost  of  so  many  lost  treasures,  she  wished  me  at 
least  to  be  happy  ! ” she  said  in  the  only  answer 
that  I received.  And  I was  not  happy ! Dear 
Natalie,  happiness  is  absolute,  it  suffers  no  com- 
parisons. My  first  ardor  once  spent,  I necessarily 
compared  these  two  women  with  each  other,  a con- 
trast that  I had  not  yet  been  able  to  study.  Indeed, 
all  great  passion  weighs  so  heavily  upon  our  character, 
that  it  first  suppresses  its  asperities  and  covers  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


353 


imprint  of  the  habits  which  constitute  our  faults  or 
our  qualities ; but,  later  on,  with  two  lovers  who 
are  thoroughly  accustomed  to  each  other,  the 
characteristics  of  the  moral  physiognomy  reappear ; 
then  both  judge  each  other  mutually,  and,  during 
this  reaction  of  the  character  over  passion,  antipa- 
thies are  often  declared  which  pave  the  way  for 
those  disunions  of  which  superficial  persons  take 
advantage  in  order  to  accuse  the  human  heart  of 
instability.  This  period  now  began.  Less  blinded 
by  the  seductions,  and  detailing  my  pleasures,  so  to 
speak,  I started,  unintentionally  perhaps,  upon  an 
examination  which  was  prejudicial  to  Lady  Dudley. 

In  the  first  place,  I found  her  lacking  in  the  spirit 
which  distinguishes  the  Frenchwoman  from  all  other 
women,  and  makes  her  the  most  delicious  to  love, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  men  who  have  been 
enabled  by  their  chances  in  life  to  test  the  different 
ways  of  loving  of  every  country.  When  a French- 
woman is  in  love,  she  transforms  herself ; her 
boasted  coquetry  she  exerts  to  adorn  her  love  ; her 
dangerous  vanity  she  stifles  and  lays  claim  only  to 
loving  well.  She  espouses  her  lover's  interests, 
hatreds  and  friendships ; in  one  day  she  acquires 
the  experienced  subtleties  of  the  business  man,  she 
studies  the  code,  she  understands  the  mechanism  of 
credit,  and  tempts  a banker's  cash-box  ; thoughtless 
and  extravagant,  she  will  not  make  a single  mistake 
and  will  not  waste  a single  louis ; she  becomes 
mother,  housekeeper  and  doctor  together,  and  invests 
all  her  transformations  with  a charm  of  happiness 
23 


354 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


which  reveals  an  infinite  love  in  its  most  trifling 
details  ; she  combines  the  special  qualities  for  which 
the  women  of  every  country  are  to  be  recommended 
whilst  blending  this  mixture  by  means  of  intelligence, 
that  French  spark  which  animates,  tolerates,  justi- 
fies, varies  everything  and  destroys  the  monotony 
of  a sentiment  dependent  on  the  first  tense  of  a 
solitary  verb.  The  Frenchwoman  ever  loves,  with- 
out respite  or  fatigue,  at  any  time,  in  public  and  in 
private ; in  public,  she  contrives  an  accent  which 
rings  in  one  ear  alone,  she  speaks  by  her  very 
silence,  and  knows  how  to  look  at  you  with 
downcast  eyes ; if  occasion  forbids  her  speech 
or  look,  she  will  employ  the  sand  upon  which 
her  foot  rests  to  inscribe  a thought ; in  private,  she 
declares  her  passion  even  during  sleep  ; in  short,  she 
bends  the  world  to  her  love.  The  Englishwoman,  on 
the  other  hand,  bends  her  love  to  the  world.  Ac- 
customed by  training  to  preserve  that  icy  manner, 
that  egotistical  British  attitude  of  which  I have  told 
you,  she  opens  and  closes  her  heart  with  the  facility 
of  a piece  of  English  mechanism.  She  possesses 
an  impenetrable  mask  which  she  puts  on  and  off 
phlegmatically  ; impassioned  as  an  Italian  when  no 
eye  is  looking,  she  becomes  coldly  dignified  as  soon 
as  the  world  intervenes.  The  most  loved  man 
begins  then  to  doubt  his  sovereignty  when  he  sees 
the  profound  immobility  of  face,  the  composure  of 
voice,  the  perfect  independence  of  countenance  that 
distinguishes  the  Englishwoman  just  out  of  her  bou- 
doir. At  such  times,  hypocrisy  goes  as  far  as  indiffer- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


355 


ence,  the  Englishwoman  has  forgotten  all.  Certainly, 
the  woman  who  can  throw  off  her  love  like  a garment, 
inspires  the  belief  that  she  may  change  it.  What 
storms  then  upheave  the  waves  of  the  heart  when 
they  are  stirred  by  vanity,  wounded  at  seeing  a 
woman  taking  up,  breaking  off,  and  resuming  her 
love  like  a piece  of  hand-embroidery  ! These  women 
are  too  thoroughly  mistresses  of  themselves,  to 
quite  belong  to  you  ; they  allow  the  world  too  much 
influence  for  our  reign  to  be  complete.  Where  the 
Frenchwoman  consoles  the  sufferer  by  a look,  and 
betrays  her  resentment  against  visitors  by  some 
pretty  sally,  the  silence  of  Englishwomen  is  absolute, 
jars  upon  the  feelings  and  irritates  the  intelligence. 
These  women  lord  it  so  incessantly  upon  every  oc- 
casion that,  with  most  of  them,  the  omnipotence  of 
fashion  is  bound  to  extend  even  to  their  pleasures. 
Whoever  exaggerates  modesty  must  exaggerate  love, 
Englishwomen  do  this  ; they  think  everything  of 
method,  without  the  love  of  method  producing  in 
them  the  sentiment  of  art ; whatever  they  may  say, 
Protestantism  and  Catholicism  account  for  the  dif- 
ferences which  make  the  intelligence  of  French- 
women so  far  superior  to  the  methodical,  calculating 
love  of  Englishwomen.  Protestantism  doubts,  weighs, 
and  kills  faith,  so  it  is  the  death  of  art  and  love. 
There  where  the  world  commands,  worldly  people 
must  obey ; but  impassioned  persons  escape  it  at 
once,  they  find  it  unbearable. 

You  will  therefore  understand  how  much  my 
vanity  was  offended  in  discovering  that  Lady  Dudley 


35 6 THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

could  not  be  at  all  content  without  society,  and  that 
she  was  familiar  with  the  British  transition  : it  was 
no  sacrifice  that  the  world  imposed  upon  her ; no, 
she  betrayed  herself  naturally  under  two  forms 
that  were  antagonistic  to  each  other ; when  she 
loved,  she  loved  with  frenzy ; no  other  woman  of 
any  other  country  could  compare  with  her,  she  was 
as  good  as  an  entire  seraglio ; but  the  curtain  once 
fallen  over  this  scene  of  enchantment  all  recollec- 
tion of  it  was  banished.  She  responded  neither  to 
look  nor  smile  ; she  was  neither  mistress  nor  slave, 
she  was  like  an  ambassadress  obliged  to  round  her 
sentences  and  her  elbows,  she  was  provoking  in  her 
composure  and  she  outraged  affection  by  her  pro- 
priety ; thus  she  degraded  love  to  the  level  of  neces- 
sity instead  of  exalting  it  to  the  height  of  the  ideal 
by  enthusiasm.  She  expressed  neither  fear,  nor 
regret,  nor  desire  ; but,  at  the  appointed  hour,  her 
tenderness  would  spring  up  like  flames  suddenly 
kindled,  and  would  seem  to  protest  against  her 
reserve.  In  which  of  these  two  women  ought  I to 
believe  ? I then  felt  by  a thousand  pin  pricks  the 
endless  differences  that  separated  Henriette  from 
Arabella.  Whenever  Madame  de  Mortsauf  left  me 
for  a moment,  she  seemed  to  have  bidden  the  air 
to  speak  to  me  of  her ; the  folds  of  her  dress,  when 
she  was  going  off,  appealed  to  my  eyes  just  as  their 
rippling  sound  used  to  strike  joyfully  upon  my  ear 
when  she  returned ; there  was  infinite  tenderness 
in  the  way  she  unfolded  her  lids  in  casting  her  eyes 
to  the  ground ; her  voice,  that  musical  voice,  was 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


357 


a continual  caress ; her  conversation  conveyed  a 
continuous  thought,  she  was  always  herself ; 
she  did  not  divide  her  soul  into  two  atmospheres, 
one  ardent  and  the  other  icy  ; in  short,  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  reserved  her  intellect  and  the  flower  of 
her  thought  for  expressing  her  feelings,  she  was 
coquettish  through  her  ideas  with  her  children  and 
with  me.  But  Arabella’s  intelligence  did  not  help 
her  to  make  life  pleasant,  she  did  not  exercise  it  for 
my  benefit,  it  only  existed  through  the  world  and 
for  the  world,  she  was  wholly  scornful ; she  loved 
to  rend,  and  to  bite,  not  to  amuse  me,  but  to  gratify 
a taste.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  would  have  concealed 
her  happiness  from  all  eyes,  Lady  Arabella  wanted 
to  show  hers  to  all  Paris,  and,  with  horrible  hypoc- 
risy, she  kept  up  all  the  proprieties  even  while 
parading  in  the  Bois  with  me.  This  mixture  of 
ostentation  and  dignity,  of  love  and  indifference, 
was  constantly  offending  my  heart,  which  was  both 
pure  and  impassioned ; and,  as  I could  not  pass  in 
this  way  from  one  temperature  to  another,  my 
humor  resented  it ; I was  quivering  with  love  when 
she  was  resuming  her  conventional  prudishness. 
When  I ventured  to  complain,  not  without  great 
caution,  she  turned  her  triple-darted  tongue  upon 
me,  mingling  the  gasconades  of  her  passion  with 
those  English  pleasantries  that  I have  tried  to  de- 
scribe to  you.  The  moment  she  happened  to  be 
opposed  to  me,  she  made  sport  of  wounding  my 
heart  and  humbling  my  spirit,  she  worked  me  like 
paste.  To  observations  upon  the  medium  that 


358  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

shouid  be  maintained  in  all  things,  she  would  reply 
by  a caricature  of  my  ideas,  which  she  would  carry 
to  excess.  When  I reproached  her  for  her  attitude, 
she  would  ask  me  if  I wished  her  to  kiss  me  before 
all  Paris,  at  the  Italiens ; so  seriously  did  she  under- 
take to  do  it,  that,  knowing  her  longing  to  be  talked 
about,  I trembled  lest  she  should  fulfil  her  promise. 
In  spite  of  her  genuine  passion,  I never  felt  any  of 
the  concentration,  the  goodness,  the  depth  that  there 
was  in  Henriette  : she  was  as  insatiable  as  a sandy 
soil.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  always  tranquil  and 
felt  my  soul  in  an  accentuation  or  a glance,  whilst 
the -marchioness  was  never  overwhelmed  by  a look, 
a squeeze  of  the  hand,  or  a gentle  word.  Nay 
more  ! the  happiness  of  the  night  before  was  nothing 
the  next  day  ; no  proof  of  love  astonished  her ; she 
felt  so  great  a desire  for  excitement,  for  sensation, 
and  eclat,  that  nothing  doubtless  attained  her  ideal 
of  perfection  in  this  respect,  and  hence  her  furious 
efforts  of  love ; to  her  exaggerated  fancy,  it  was  a 
question  of  herself  and  not  of  me.  This  letter  from 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,  a light  which  yet  shines  upon 
my  life,  and  which  evinced  the  manner  in  which  the 
most  virtuous  woman  can  obey  the  genius  of  the 
Frenchwoman,  by  betraying  a perpetual  vigilance,  a 
ceaseless  sympathy  with  all  my  fortunes  ; this  letter 
must  have  shown  you  the  care  with  which  Henriette 
attended  to  my  material  interests,  my  political  rela- 
tions, my  moral  conquests,  with  what  ardor  she 
encompassed  my  life  in  all  lawful  directions.  On 
all  these  points,  Lady  Dudley  affected  the  reserve  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


359 


a mere  acquaintance.  She  never  inquired  into  my 
affairs,  nor  my  fortune,  nor  my  work,  nor  the  diffi- 
culties of  my  life,  nor  my  aversions,  nor  my  mascu- 
line friendships.  Extravagant  for  herself  without 
being  generous,  she  really  separated  interests  and 
love  a little  too  much  ; whilst,  without  having  put  it 
to  the  test,  I knew  that  in  order  to  spare  me  any 
trouble,  Henriette  would  have  contrived  for  me 
what  she  never  would  have  sought  for  herself.  In 
any  of  those  misfortunes  which  may  chance  to  the 
most  eminent  and  the  richest  men,  history  testifies  to 
enough  of  them  ! I should  have  consulted  Henriette, 
but  I should  have  allowed  myself  to  be  dragged  to 
prison  without  saying  a word  to  Lady  Dudley. 

So  far,  the  contrast  is  based  upon  sentiment,  but 
it  was  the  same  with  things.  Luxury,  in  France,  is 
the  expression  of  the  man,  the  reproduction  of  his 
ideas,  of  his  particular  poetry  ; it  portrays  the  char- 
acter, and  between  lovers  imparts  value  to  the  most 
trifling  attentions  by  causing  the  dominant  thought 
of  the  loved  one  to  radiate  around  us  ; but  this  Eng- 
lish luxuriance,  the  refinements  of  which  had  fasci- 
nated me  by  their  subtlety,  was  also  mechanical ! 
Lady  Dudley  herself  contributed  nothing  to  it,  it 
came  from  the  servants,  it  was  purchased.  The 
thousand  kindly  attentions  at  Clochegourde,  in  Ara- 
bella's eyes,  were  the  business  of  the  servants ; to 
each  his  own  particular  duty  and  branch.  The 
selection  of  the  best  lackeys  was  her  majordomo's 
business,  as  if  it  were  a question  of  horses.  This 
woman  was  never  at  all  attached  to  her  servants, 


360  the  lily  of  the  valley 

the  death  of  the  most  valuable  amongst  them  would 
not  have  affected  her  in  the  least,  by  paying  money 
he  could  be  replaced  by  one  that  was  equally  skilful. 
As  to  her  fellow-creatures,  I never  detected  a tear 
in  her  eye  for  the  misfortunes  of  others,  she  even 
showed  a naivete  of  egotism  which  absolutely  made 
one  laugh.  The  scarlet  draperies  of  the  grande  dame 
covered  this  brazen  nature.  The  delicious  alma 
who  rioted  at  night  upon  her  rugs,  who  sounded  all 
the  bells  of  her  amorous  folly,  readily  reconciled  a 
young  man  with  the  apathetic,  stiff  Englishwoman  ; 
and  so  I did  not  discover  the  tufa  upon  which  I was 
wasting  my  seeds,  and  which  was  to  yield  no  har- 
vest. Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  suddenly  fathomed 
this  nature  in  her  hasty  meeting ; I remembered  her 
prophetic  words.  Henriette  had  been  right  in  every- 
thing. Arabella’s  love  was  becoming  intolerable.  I 
have  since  observed  that  most  women  who  ride  well 
have  very  little  tenderness.  Like  the  Amazons,  a 
breast  is  lacking  in  them,  and  their  hearts  have 
hardened  in  a certain  direction,  I know  not  which. 


Just  as  I was  beginning  to  feel  the  weight  of  this 
yoke,  when  fatigue  was  overtaking  my  body  and 
soul,  when  I was  beginning  to  understand  all  the 
sanctity  that  genuine  feeling  bestows  upon  love, 
when  I was  overcome  by  the  memories  of  Cloche- 
gourde,  inhaling,  in  spite  of  the  distance,  the  per- 
fume of  all  its  roses,  the  warmth  of  its  terrace, 
hearing  the  song  of  its  nightingales,  in  that  awful 
moment  when  I was  finding  out  the  stony  bed  of  the 
torrent  beneath  its  diminished  waters,  I received  a 
blow  which  still  resounds  in  my  life,  for  at  every 
hour  it  finds  an  echo. 

I was  working  in  the  closet  of  the  king,  who  was 
to  go  out  at  four  o’clock  ; the  Due  de  Lenoncourt 
was  on  duty ; seeing  him  come  in,  the  king  asked 
after  the  countess  ; I abruptly  raised  my  head  in 
too  significant  a manner ; the  king,  shocked  at  this 
demonstration,  gave  me  a look  which  always  pre- 
ceded those  severe  remarks  that  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  make. 

“Sire,  my  poor  daughter  is  dying,”  replied  the 
duke. 

“ Will  the  king  deign  to  grant  me  leave  ? ” I said 
[36i1 


362  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

with  tears  in  my  eyes,  braving  the  gathering  anger. 

“ Hurry,  milord  ! ” he  replied,  smiling  at  having 
put  an  epigram  into  each  word  and  sparing  me  his 
reprimand  in  consideration  of  his  own  witticism. 

Courtier  rather  than  father,  the  duke  did  not  ask 
for  any  leave  and  stepped  into  the  king’s  carriage  to 
accompany  him.  1 left  without  saying  good-bye  to 
Lady  Dudley,  who  fortunately  was  gone  out  and  to 
whom  I wrote  saying  that  I was  going  on  a mission 
in  the  king’s  service.  At  the  Croix-de-Berny,  I 
met  his  majesty  who  was  returning  from  Verrieres. 
As  he  accepted  a bouquet  of  flowers  which  he  let 
fall  at  his  feet,  the  king  gave  me  a look  full  of  those 
royal  ironies  which  are  overwhelmingly  penetrating, 
and  which  seemed  to  say  : “If  you  wish  to  become 
anything  in  politics,  return  ! Do  not  amuse  your- 
self parleying  with  the  dead  ! ” The  duke  gave  me 
a melancholy  wave  of  the  hand.  The  two  pompous 
carriages  drawn  by  eight  horses,  the  gilded  colonels, 
the  escort  and  its  whirlwinds  of  dust  passed  rapidly 
to  the  cry  of  “ Vive  le  roi ! ” It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  Court  had  trampled  upon  the  body  of  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  with  the  callousness  that  nature  shows 
for  our  catastrophes..  Although  an  excellent  man, 
the  duke  would  doubtless  go  and  play  whist  with 
Monsieur,  after  the  king  retired  to  rest.  As  to  the 
duchess,  she  had  long  since  dealt  her  daughter  the 
first  blow  by  speaking  to  her,  she  alone,  of  Lady 
Dudley. 

My  rapid  journey  was  like  a dream,  but  the  dream 
of  a ruined  gambler ; I was  in  despair  at  not  having 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


363 


received  any  news.  Had  the  confessor  carried 
severity  so  far  as  to  forbid  me  admission  to  Cloche- 
gourde  ? I accused  Madeleine,  Jacques,  the  Abbe 
de  Dominis,  everybody,  even  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf. 
Beyond  Tours,  passing  out  by  the  bridges  of  Saint- 
Sauveur,  to  go  down  into  the  road  bordered  by  pop- 
lars which  leads  to  Poncher,  and  that  I had  so  much 
admired  when  1 was  hurrying  in  search  of  my  un- 
known, I met  Monsieur  Origet ; he  guessed  that  I 
was  going  to  Clochegourde,  I guessed  that  he  was 
returning  from  there  ; we  stopped  our  carriages  and 
we  got  down,  I to  ask  for  news  and  he  to  give  me 
some. 

“ Well,  how  is  Madame  de  Mortsauf  ? ” I said. 

“ I question  if  you  will  find  her  alive/’  he  re- 
plied. “ She  is  dying  an  awful  death,  she  is  dying 
of  starvation.  When  she  sent  for  me  in  June  last, 
no  medical  power  could  fight  the  disease ; she  had 
those  dreadful  symptoms  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
no  doubt  has  described  to  you,  as  he  believes  he  has 
experienced  them.  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  not 
then  under  the  temporary  influence  of  a disturbance 
due  to  an  internal  struggle,  that  medicine  regulates 
and  which  becomes  the  cause  of  a better  condition, 
or  under  the  effect  of  an  incipient  crisis  from  which 
the  disorder  mends  ; no,  the  malady  had  reached  a 
point  at  which  skill  is  of  no  avail ; it  is  the  incurable 
result  of  a sorrow,  just  as  a mortal  wound  is  the  con- 
sequence of  a stab.  This  affection  is  produced  by 
the  inertia  of  an  organ  the  play  of  which  is  as  neces- 
sary to  life  as  that  of  the  heart.  Sorrow  has  served 


364  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

the  turn  of  the  dagger.  Make  no  mistake  ! Madame 
de  Mortsauf  is  dying  of  some  secret  grief.’ ’ 

“ Secret  ! ” I said.  “ Her  children  have  not  been 
ill  at  all  ? ” 

rt  No/’  he  said,  looking  at  me  significantly,  “ and, 
since  she  has  been  seriously  attacked,  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  has  ceased  tormenting  her.  I can  be  of  no 
further  use,  Monsieur  Deslandes,  of  Azay,  will  do  ; 
no  cure  exists,  and  the  sufferings  are  horrible.  Rich, 
young,  beautiful,  and  to  die,  emaciated,  aged,  by 
hunger,  for  she  will  die  of  hunger  ! For  forty  days, 
the  stomach,  being  as  it  were,  closed,  rejects  all 
nourishment,  no  matter  in  what  form  it  may  be 
presented.” 

Monsieur  Origet  pressed  the  hand  I held  out  to  him, 
he  had  almost  asked  me  for  it  by  a gesture  of  respect. 

“ Courage,  monsieur ! ” he  said,  raising  his  eyes 
to  Heaven. 

His  words  expressed  compassion  for  sufferings 
that  he  believed  to  be  mutually  shared ; he  did  not 
suspect  the  envenomed  sting  contained  in  them, 
which  struck  me  to  the  heart  like  an  arrow.  I 
abruptly  returned  to  my  carriage,  promising  the  posti- 
lion a handsome  reward  if  I should  arrive  in  time. 

In  spite  of  my  impatience,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
the  distance  were  accomplished  in  but  a few  minutes, 
so  absorbed  was  I in  the  bitter  reflections  which 
were  crowding  into  my  mind.  She  is  dying  of  sor- 
row, and  her  children  are  well ! then  she  was  dying 
because  of  me  ! My  threatening  conscience  pro- 
nounced one  of  those  indictments  that  resound  all 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


365 


through  life  and  sometimes  beyond.  How  weak  and 
how  impotent  is  human  justice  ! it  only  avenges 
palpable  action.  Why  death  and  disgrace  to  the 
murderer  who  kills  at  a blow,  who  generously  sur- 
prises you  during  sleep  and  sends  you  to  sleep  for 
ever,  or  who  strikes  unawares,  sparing  you  the 
agony  ? Why  the  happy  life,  why  esteem  to  the 
murderer  who  sheds  gall  into  the  soul  drop  by  drop 
and  undermines  the  body  so  as  to  destroy  it  ? How 
many  unpunished  murderers  ! what  complaisance 
for  fashionable  vice ! what  acquittal  for  the  homi- 
cide caused  by  moral  persecutions  ! I know  not  what 
avenging  hand  suddenly  lifted  the  painted  curtain 
which  covers  society.  I beheld  several  of  those 
victims  whom  you  know  as  well  as  I do  : Madame 
de  Beauseant,  gone  to  Normandy,  dying,  a few  days 
before  my  departure ! the  Duchesse  de  Langeais 
compromised  ! Lady  Brandon  arrived  in  Touraine, 
there  to  die  in  that  humble  house  in  which  Lady 
Dudley  had  stayed  for  two  weeks,  and  killed, 
by  what  horrible  tragedy  ? you  know  ! Our  period 
abounds  in  events  of  this  kind.  Who  has  not  heard 
of  the  poor  young  woman  who  poisoned  herself, 
overcome  by  the  jealousy  which  perhaps  was  killing 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  ? Who  has  not  shuddered  at 
the  fate  of  that  lovely  young  girl,  who,  like  some 
flower  stung  by  a gad-fly,  pined  away  after  two 
years  of  married  life,  victim  of  her  chaste  ignorance, 
victim  of  a wretch  to  whom  Ronquerolles,  Montri- 
veau,  and  de  Marsay  hold  out  their  hands,  because 
he  is  useful  to  their  political  schemes  ? Who  has 


366 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


not  thrilled  at  the  story  of  the  last  moments  of  the 
woman  whom  no  prayer  could  move  and  who  refused 
to  see  her  husband  again  after  having  paid  his  debts 
so  nobly  ? Has  not  Madame  d’Aiglemont  been  very 
near  the  grave,  and,  but  for  my  brothers  care, 
would  she  be  alive  ? The  world  and  science  are  ac- 
complices in  those  crimes  for  which  there  is  no 
court  of  assize.  It  seems  that  nobody  dies  of  grief, 
nor  of  despair,  nor  of  love,  nor  of  secret  poverty, 
nor  of  fruitlessly  nurtured  hopes,  ceaselessly  re- 
planted and  uprooted.  Recent  nomenclature  has 
ingenious  words  that  explain  everything  : gas- 

tritis, _ pericarditis,  the  many  feminine  maladies 
which  can  only  be  named  in  a whisper,  serve  as 
passports  to  coffins  escorted  by  hypocritical  tears 
which  are  soon  dried  by  the  notary's  hand.  Is  there 
any  law  that  we  know  not  of  at  the  bottom  of  this 
misery  ? Should  the  centenary  pitilessly  scatter  the 
soil  with  dead,  and  drain  it  around  him  so  as  to  raise 
himself,  just  as  a millionaire  assimilates  the  efforts 
of  a multitude  of  small  industries  ? Is  there  a strong 
venomous  life  which  feasts  upon  gentle,  tender  crea- 
tures ? My  God  ! then  did  I belong  to  the  race  of 
tigers  ? Remorse  clutched  my  heart  with  its  burn- 
ing fingers,  and  my  cheeks  were  streaked  with  tears 
when  I entered  the  avenue  of  Clochegourde  on  a 
damp  October  morning  that  was  stripping  the  dead 
leaves  of  the  poplars,  the  planting  of  which  had 
been  superintended  by  Henriette,  in  that  avenue 
where  she  had  but  lately  waved  her  handkerchief  as 
if  to  call  me  back  ! Was  she  alive  ? Might  I feel 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


367 


her  two  white  hands  upon  my  bowed  head  ? In  one 
moment  I paid  for  all  the  pleasures  given  by  Ara- 
bella and  found  them  dearly  sold  ! 1 swore  to  my- 

self never  to  see  her  again,  and  I took  an  aversion 
to  England.  Although  Lady  Dudley  may  be  one 
variety  of  the  species,  I included  all  Englishwomen 
in  the  gloom  of  my  decision. 

As  I entered  Clochegourde,  I received  a fresh  blow. 
I found  Jacques,  Madeleine  and  the  Abbe  de  Dominis 
kneeling  all  three  at  the  foot  of  a wooden  cross  set 
up  in  the  corner  of  a piece  of  ground  that  had  been 
enclosed  in  the  precincts,  at  the  time  the  iron  gate 
was  erected,  and  which  neither  the  count  nor  the 
countess  had  wished  to  have  cut  down.  I jumped 
out  of  my  carriage  and  went  toward  them  with  my 
face  streaming  with  tears  and  my  heart  broken  at 
the  sight  of  these  two  children  and  this  grave  person 
imploring  God.  The  old  groom  was  there  too,  a few 
steps  away,  with  bared  head. 

“ Well,  monsieur  ? ” I said  to  the  Abbe  de  Domi- 
nis, kissing  the  foreheads  of  Jacques  and  Madeleine, 
who  looked  at  me  coldly,  without  interrupting  their 
prayer. 

The  abbe  rose,  I took  his  arm  to  support  myself 
as  I said  : 

“ Is  she  still  alive  ? ” 

He  inclined  his  head  with  a sad  and  gentle  move- 
ment. 

“Speak,  I implore  you,  in  the  name  of  Our  Savi- 
our’s passion  ! Why  are  you  praying  at  the  foot  of 
this  cross  ? Why  are  you  here  and  not  beside  her  ? 


368 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


Why  are  her  children  out  of  doors  on  so  cold  a morn- 
ing ? Tell  me  all,  so  that  I may  not  cause  any 
misery  through  ignorance.” 

“ For  several  days,  Madame  la  Comtesse  has  only 
seen  her  children  at  stated  hours.  Monsieur,”  he 
continued,  after  a pause,  “perhaps  you  ought  to 
wait  a few  hours  before  seeing  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
again  ; she  is  much  changed  ! but  it  will  be  well  to 
prepare  her  for  this  interview,  you  might  cause  her 
some  increase  of  suffering — As  to  death,  it  would  be 
a mercy.” 

1 squeezed  the  hand  of  this  holy  man  whose 
glance  and  voice  soothed  the  wounds  of  others  with- 
out irritating  them. 

“ We  are  all  praying  here  for  her,”  he  resumed, 
“ because,  for  several  days,  she,  so  holy,  so  resigned, 
so  fit  to  die,  has  felt  a secret  horror  of  death,  she  looks 
at  those  who  are  full  of  life  with  eyes  in  which,  for 
the  first  time,  dark  and  envious  feelings  are  re- 
flected. Her  excitement  is  roused,  I think,  less  by 
fear  of  death  than  by  an  internal  intoxication,  by 
the  faded  flowers  of  her  youth  which  ferment  as 
they  wither.  Yes,  the  evil  spirit  is  contending 
against  Heaven  for  this  lovely  soul.  Madame  en- 
dures her  struggle  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  she  adds 
her  tears  to  the  fall  of  the  white  roses  which 
crowned  her  married  Jephthahlike  head,  and  which 
have  dropped  one  by  one.  Wait,  do  not  show  your- 
self yet,  you  will  bring  her  the  splendors  of  the 
Court,  she  will  see  the  reflex  of  the  worldly  festiv- 
ities in  your  face,  and  you  will  reinforce  her  com- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


369 


plaints.  Have  pity  upon  a weakness  that  God  Him- 
self forgave  His  Son  as  man.  Besides,  what  credit 
would  it  be  to  us  to  conquer  without  an  adver- 
sary ? Allow  her  confessor  or  me,  two  old  men 
whose  decay  can  in  no  way  offend  her  sight,  to 
prepare  her  for  an  unexpected  interview,  for  emo- 
tions which  the  Abbe  Birotteau  had  required  her  to 
renounce.  But  in  the  things  of  this  world  there  is 
an  invisible  thread  of  heavenly  causes  that  a re- 
ligious eye  perceives,  and,  if  you  have  come  here, 
perhaps  you  have  been  brought  by  one  of  those 
celestial  stars  which  shine  in  the  moral  world,  and 
which  lead  toward  the  grave  as  toward  the  man- 
ger.M 

Then,  putting  forth  that  moving  eloquence  which 
falls  upon  the  heart  like  dew,  he  told  me  that  for 
six  months  the  countess  had  been  suffering  more 
each  day,  in  spite  of  Monsieur  Origet’s  precautions. 
The  doctor  had  come  to  Clochegourde  every  night 
for  two  months,  trying  to  wrest  this  victim  from 
death,  for  the  countess  had  said  : “ Save  me!” 

“ But,  in  order  to  cure  the  body,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  cure  the  heart !”  the  old  doctor  had  cried 
one  day. 

“ Following  the  progress  of  the  disease,  the  words 
of  this  ordinarily  gentle  woman  have  become 
bitter/’  said  the  Abbe  de  Dominis.  “She  cries 
out  to  the  earth  to  keep  her,  instead  of  crying  to 
God  to  take  her ; then  she  repents  for  having  mur- 
mured against  the  decrees  from  on  high.  These  al- 
ternations wring  her  heart,  and  make  the  struggle 
24 


370 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


between  the  body  and  soul  horrible.  The  body 
often  triumphs  ! * You  cost  me  very  dear  ! ’ she 

said  one  day  to  Madeleine  and  Jacques,  pushing  them 
away  from  her  bedside.  But,  at  that  moment,  re- 
minded of  God  by  the  sight  of  me,  she  said  these 
angelic  words  to  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  : 4 The 
happiness  of  others  becomes  the  joy  of  those  who 
can  never  be  happy  again.*  And  her  accent  was 
so  heartrending,  that  I felt  my  eyes  filling.  She 
falls,  it  is  true  ; but,  at  every  stumble,  she  rises 
again  nearer  Heaven.” 

Agonized  by  the  successive  messages  that  chance 
was  sending  me,  and  which,  in  this  great  concert  of 
misfortunes,  were  making  ready,  with  mournful 
cadence,  for  the  funeral  theme,  the  deep  lament  of 
expiring  love,  I cried  : 

“ You  do  believe  that  this  beautiful  severed  lily 
will  reflower  in  Heaven  ? ” 

“You  left  her  still  a flower/*  he  replied,  “but 
you  will  find  her  consumed,  purified  in  the  fire  of 
sorrow,  and  pure  as  a diamond  that  is  still  buried 
in  the  embers.  Yes,  this  brilliant  spirit,  angelic 
star,  will  emerge  shining  from  its  clouds  to  go  into 
the  realm  of  light.” 

Just  as  I was  squeezing  the  hand  of  this  evangelical 
man,  my  heart  oppressed  with  gratitude,  the  count 
put  his  head,  now  grown  quite  white,  out  of  the 
house  and  rushed  toward  me  with  an  animation  in 
which  surprise  was  apparent. 

“ She  was  right ! here  he  is.  ‘ Felix,  Felix,  here  is 
Felix  coming  ! * Madame  de  Mortsauf  exclaimed. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


371 


My  friend/’ he  continued,  looking  at  me  with  eyes 
of  insane  terror,  “ Death  is  here.  Why  did  he  not 
take  an  old  fool  like  myself  whom  he  had  at- 
tacked ? — ” 

I walked  toward  the  chateau,  summoning  up  my 
courage ; but,  on  the  threshold  of  the  long  ante- 
room which,  in  going  through  the  house,  led  from 
the  lawn  to  the  perron,  the  Abbe  Birotteau  stopped 
me.  “ Madame  la  Comtesse  begs  you  will  not  come 
in  just  yet/’  he  said. 

At  a glance  I saw  the  servants  coming  and  going, 
all  bustling,  frenzied  with  grief  and  no  doubt 
astonished  at  the  orders  Manette  was  giving  them. 

“ What  is  happening  ? ” said  the  count,  scared  at 
this  commotion,  as  much  through  dread  of  the  awful 
event  as  through  the  anxiety  natural  to  his  dis- 
position. 

“ An  invalid’s  whim,”  replied  the  abbe,  “ Madame 
la  Comtesse  does  not  wish  to  receive  Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  in  her  present  state  ; she  talks  of  dressing, 
so  why  thwart  her  ? ” 

Manette  went  to  fetch  Madeleine,  and  we  saw 
Madeleine  coming  out  a few  moments  after  having 
gone  into  her  mother’s  room.  Then,  as  we  all  five, 
Jacques  and  his  father,  the  two  abbes  and  I,  all 
silent,  walked  up  and  down  the  facade  on  the  lawn, 
we  passed  beyond  the  house.  I gazed  in  turn  at 
Montbazon  and  Azay , looking  at  the  yellowing  valley, 
the  gloom  of  which  corresponded  then  as  always  to 
the  feelings  which  were  stirring  me.  All  of  a sud- 
den I saw  the  darling  hastening  in  search  of  the 


372 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


autumn  flowers  and  picking  them,  in  order,  no  doubt, 
to  make  up  some  bouquets.  Thinking  of  all  that 
was  signified  in  this  rejoinder  to  my  amorous  atten- 
tions, 1 was  overcome  by  an  indescribable  revulsion 
of  feeling,  I staggered,  my  sight  grew  dim,  and  the 
two  abbes,  between  whom  I happened  to  be,  carried 
me  to  the  edge  of  a terrace  where  I remained  a 
moment  as  if  crushed,  but  without  losing  entire 
consciousnesss. 

“ Poor  Felix/ ' said  the  count,  “she  did  well  to 
forbid  our  writing  to  you,  she  knows  how  much  you 
love  her.” 

Although  prepared  to  suffer,  I had  found  myself 
helpless  against  an  attention  which  embodied  all  my 
memories  of  happiness. 

“ There  it  is,”  I thought  to  myself,  “this  plain, 
as  withered  as  a skeleton,  illumined  by  a gray 
daylight,  in  the  midst  of  which  a single  flower-bush 
used  to  rise,  which  I never  could  admire  during  my 
walks  without  a sinister  shudder,  and  which  was 
the  image  of  this  dismal  hour ! ” 

All  was  gloom  in  this  little  castle,  once  so  alive, 
so  animated  ! all  mourned,  all  spoke  of  despair  and 
neglect.  There  were  half  raked  paths,  duties  begun 
and  abandoned,  workmen  standing  and  looking  at  the 
chateau.  Although  they  were  gathering  grapes  in 
the  vineyards,  one  could  hear  neither  noise  nor 
chatter.  The  vineyards  seemed  to  be  deserted,  so 
intense  was  the  silence.  We  went  like  people 
whose  sorrow  resents  commonplace  words,  and  we 
listened  to  the  count,  the  only  one  of  us  who  spoke. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


373 


After  the  set  phrases  prompted  by  the  mechanical 
love  he  felt  for  his  wife,  the  count  was  induced  by 
his  bent  of  mind  to  complain  of  the  countess.  His 
wife  never  would  take  care  of  herself  or  listen  to 
him  when  he  gave  her  good  advice  ; he  had  been 
the  first  to  perceive  the  symptoms  of  the  malady  ; 
for  he  had  studied  them  in  himself,  had  struggled 
against  them  and  had  cured  himself  of  them  all  alone, 
without  any  other  help  than  that  of  a diet  and  by 
avoiding  all  deep  emotion.  He  could  easily  have 
cured  the  countess,  too ; but  a husband  should  not 
take  such  responsibilities,  particularly  when  he  has 
the  misfortune  to  see  his  experience  upon  every 
subject  disdained.  In  spite  of  his  remonstrances, 
the  countess  had  engaged  Origet  as  her  doctor. 
Origet,  who  had  formerly  so  mismanaged  him,  was 
killing  his  wife  for  him.  If  this  malady  was  caused 
by  excessive  troubles,  he  had  been  in  every  con- 
dition to  get  it ; but  what  troubles  could  his  wife 
have  ? The  countess  was  happy,  she  had  neither 
worries  nor  vexations  ! Thanks  to  his  care  and  his 
good  ideas,  their  fortune  was  in  a satisfactory 
condition ; he  allowed  Madame  de  Mortsauf  to 
reign  at  Clochegourde  ; her  children,  well  brought 
up,  and  in  good  health,  gave  no  further  anxiety ; 
whence  then,  could  the  disease  proceed  ? And  he 
argued  and  mingled  the  expression  of  his  despair 
with  insane  accusations.  Then,  presently  recalled 
by  some  recollection  to  the  admiration  that  this 
noble  creature  merited,  a few  tears  fell  from  the 
eyes  that  had  been  so  long  dry. 


Madeleine  came  to  tell  me  that  her  mother  was 
waiting  for  me.  The  Abbe  Birotteau  followed  me. 
The  grave  young  girl  remained  beside  her  father, 
saying  that  the  countess  wished  to  be  alone  with 
me,  and  alleged  the  fatigue  that  the  presence  of 
several  persons  would  cause  her.  The  solemnity  of 
this  moment  produced  within  me  that  impression  of 
inward  heat  and  outward  cold  which  overwhelms  us 
in  the  great  events  of  life.  The  Abbe  Birotteau,  one 
of  those  men  whom  God  has  marked  as  His  own  by 
endowing  them  with  gentleness  and  simplicity,  and 
by  granting  them  patience  and  forbearance,  took  me 
apart. 

“Monsieur,”  he  said,  “you  must  know  that  I 
have  done  all  that  was  humanly  possible  to  prevent 
this  meeting.  The  welfare  of  this  saint  required  it 
should  be  so.  I have  only  thought  of  her  and  not 
of  you.  Now  that  you  are  once  more  to  see  her 
whom  the  angels  should  have  forbidden  you  to 
approach,  know  that  I shall  remain  between  you  to 
defend  her  against  yourself  and  maybe,  against  her- 
self ! Respect  her  weakness.  I am  not  asking  you, 
as  a priest,  to  have  mercy  upon  her,  but  as  a humble 
(375) 


376  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

friend  whom  you  did  not  know  you  had,  and  who 
wants  to  spare  you  remorse.  Our  dear  patient  is 
unquestionably  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst.  Ever 
since  this  morning  she  has  been  in  that  state  of 
feverish  irritation  which  precedes  this  awful  death, 
and  I cannot  disguise  from  you  how  much  she  re- 
grets life.  The  outcries  of  her  rebellious  flesh  die 
away  in  my  heart,  where  they  clash  with  other  yet 
too  sensitive  echoes  ; but  Monsieur  de  Dominis  and 
I,  we  accepted  this  religious  task,  so  as  to  conceal 
the  sight  of  this  moral  agony  from  this  noble  family, 
who  no  longer  recognize  their  morning  and  evening 
star  ; for  the  husband,  the  children,  the  servants, 
all  ask  : 1 Where  is  she? ’ so  much  is  she  changed. 
At  sight  of  you,  the  complaints  will  revive.  Dismiss 
the  thoughts  of  a man  of  the  world,  forget  the  vani- 
ties of  the  heart,  be  to  her  an  auxiliary  of  Heaven 
and  not  that  of  earth.  Do  not  let  this  saint  die  in 
an  hour  of  doubt,  giving  vent  to  words  of  despair/’ 

I made  no  reply.  My  silence  dismayed  the  poor 
confessor.  I saw,  heard  and  walked,  and  yet  I was 
no  longer  upon  earth.  This  thought:  “Whatever 
has  happened?  in  what  state  am  I to  find  her,  for 
every  one  to  use  such  precautions?  ” gave  birth  to 
apprehensions  that  were  all  the  more  cruel  in  that 
they  were  undefined  : it  contained  all  the  sorrows 
together.  We  reached  the  door  of  the  room,  which 
the  anxious  confessor  opened. 

Then  I saw  Henriette  in  a white  dress,  sitting  on 
her  little  sofa  in  front  of  the  fireplace  which  was  or- 
namented with  our  two  vases  full  of  flowers ; then 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


377 


more  flowers  on  the  stand  in  front  of  the  window. 
The  face  of  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  stupefied  at  the 
sight  of  this  improvised  fete  and  at  the  alteration  in 
this  room,  suddenly  restored  to  its  old  condition, 
told  me  that  the  dying  woman  had  banished  the 
repulsive  trappings  that  surround  the  bed  of  the 
sick.  She  had  spent  the  last  forces  of  a flickering 
fever  in  preparing  her  untidy  room  to  worthily  re- 
ceive him  whom  she  loved  at  this  moment  more 
than  anything  else.  Her  emaciated  face,  which 
wore  the  greenish  pallor  of  half-open  magnolia 
flowers,  appeared  beneath  billows  of  lace  like  the 
first  outlines  of  a cherished  head  drawn  in  chalk 
upon  the  yellow  canvas  of  a picture  ; but,  in  order 
to  understand  how  deeply  the  clutch  of  the  vulture 
sank  into  my  heart,  imagine  the  eyes  of  this  sketch 
completed  and  full  of  life,  hollow  eyes  which  shone 
with  unnatural  lustre  in  a lifeless  face.  She  no 
longer  had  that  calm  majesty  which  the  constant 
victory  over  her  troubles  had  been  used  to  impart. 
Her  forehead,  the  only  part  of  the  face  which  had 
kept  its  fine  proportions,  indicated  the  aggressive 
assumption  of  desire  and  restrained  defiance.  In 
spite  of  the  waxlike  tints  of  her  drawn  countenance, 
inward  fires  emanated  from  it  with  a radiance  like 
that  of  the  fluid  which  simmers  over  the  fields  on  a 
hot  day.  Her  sunken  temples,  her  wasted  cheeks, 
showed  the  inner  structure  of  the  face,  and  the 
smile  on  her  white  lips  vaguely  resembled  the 
grin  of  the  dead.  The  gown  folded  over  her 
breast  showed  the  emaciation  of  her  beautiful 


378 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


bust.  The  turn  of  her  head  plainly  told  that 
she  knew  she  was  altered  and  that  she  was 
in  despair  about  it.  It  was  no  longer  my  delicious 
Henriette,  nor  the  sublime  and  saintly  Madame  de 
Mortsauf ; it  was  Bossuet’s  nameless  something, 
which  was  struggling  against  nothingness,  and  that 
hunger  and  baffled  desires  were  inciting  to  the 
egotistical  fight  of  life  against  death.  I came  and 
sat  down  beside  her,  taking  her  hand,  which  I felt 
was  burning  and  parched,  to  kiss  it.  She  divined 
my  painful  surprise  in  the  very  effort  I made  to  con- 
ceal it.  Her  discolored  lips  were  then  strained  over 
her  famished  teeth  in  an  attempt  at  one  of  those 
forced  smiles  beneath  which  we  hide  alike  the 
sarcasm  of  revenge,  the  expectation  of  pleasure,  the 
rapture  of  the  soul  and  the  fury  of  disappointment. 
“ Ah  ! it  is  death,  my  poor  Felix/’  she  said,  “ and 
you  do  not  like  death  ! odious  death,  death  of  which 
every  creature,  even  the  most  intrepid  lover,  has  a 
horror.  Love  finishes  here  ; I knew  it  well.  Lady 
Dudley  will  never  see  you  astonished  at  the  change 
in  her.  Ah  ! why  have  I so  longed  for  you,  Felix  ? 
You  have  come  at  last ; I reward  you  for  this  devo- 
tion by  the  horrible  sight  which  formerly  made  the 
Comte  de  Ranee  turn  Trappist;  I,  who  longed  to 
remain  lovely  and  great  in  your  memory,  to  live  in 
it  as  an  eternal  lily,  I sicken  you  of  your  illusions. 
True  love  calculates  nothing.  But  do  not  run  away, 
stay  here.  Monsieur  Origet  thought  me  much  bet- 
ter this  morning,  I shall  come  back  to  life,  I shall 
revive  under  your  glances.  Then,  when  I shall 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


379 


have  recovered  some  strength,  when  I begin  to  be 
able  to  take  some  nourishment,  I shall  grow  beauti- 
ful again.  I am  hardly  thirty-five,  I may  yet  have 
some  happy  years.  Happiness  rejuvenates,  and  I 
want  to  know  happiness.  I have  made  some  de- 
lightful plans  : we  will  leave  them  at  Clochegourde 
and  we  will  go  to  Italy  together.’ * 

My  eyes  grew  wet  with  tears,  I turned  toward 
the  window  as  if  to  look  at  the  flowers ; the  Abbe 
Birotteau  hastily  approached  me,  and  leaned  over 
the  bouquet : 

“ No  tears  ! ” he  whispered. 

“ Henriette,  then  you  do  not  love  our  dear  valley 
any  more  ? ” I answered  so  as  to  lend  color  to  my 
sudden  movement. 

“ Yes,”  she  said,  bringing  her  forehead  under  my 
lips  with  a coaxing  gesture,  “ but,  without  you,  it  is 
fatal  to  me — Without  you,”  she  added,  brushing 
my  ear  with  her  burning  lips  as  if  to  breathe  these 
three  syllables  into  it  like  two  sighs. 

I was  appalled  at  this  mad  caress  which  still  fur- 
ther heightened  the  dreadful  communications  of  the 
two  abbes.  At  this  moment,  my  first  surprise 
vanished  ; but,  if  I could  use  my  sense,  my  will  was 
not  strong  enough  to  repress  the  nervous  emotion 
which  agitated  me  during  this  scene.  I listened 
without  reply,  or  rather  I replied  by  a fixed  smile 
and  signs  of  assent,  so  as  not  to  vex  her,  behaving 
like  a mother  with  her  child.  After  having  been 
startled  at  the  metamorphosis  of  the  body,  I saw 
that  the  woman,  once  so  imposing  in  her  loftiness, 


380  the  lily  of  the  valley 

showed  in  her  attitude,  her  voice,  manners,  looks 
and  ideas,  the  naive  ignorance  of  a child,  the  artless 
graces,  the  eagerness  of  impulse,  the  profound  in- 
difference to  what  is  not  its  desire  nor  itself,  in 
fact,  all  the  weaknesses  which  commend  the  child  to 
protection.  Is  it  so  with  all  the  dying  ? do  they  all 
strip  off  social  disguises,  in  the  same  way  that  the 
child  has  not  yet  assumed  them  ? Or,  finding  her- 
self upon  the  brink  of  eternity,  was  the  countess, 
by  admitting  no  human  feelings  but  that  of  love, 
proclaiming,  like  Chloe,  its  sweet  innocence  ? 

“ You  shall  restore  me  to  health,  Felix,  as  you  did 
once  before,”  she  said,  “and  my  valley  will  do  me 
good.  How  could  I not  eat  whatever  you  were  to 
give  me  ? You  are  such  a good  nurse  ! Then  you 
are  so  rich  in  strength  and  health,  that  with  you  life 
is  contagious.  Darling,  prove  to  me  then  that  I 
cannot  die,  die  mistaken  ! They  think  that  my 
keenest  agony  is  thirst.  Oh  ! yes,  love,  I am  in- 
deed thirsty.  It  sickens  me  to  look  at  the  water  of 
the  Indre,  but  my  heart  feels  a more  burning  thirst. 
I was  thirsting  for  you,”  she  said,  in  a more  stifled 
voice,  taking  my  hands  in  her  hot  hands,  and  draw- 
ing me  to  her  so  as  to  breathe  these  words  in  my 
ear:  “ my  agony  has  been  not  to  see  you!  Did 
you  not  tell  me  to  live  ? I want  to  live.  I want  to 
ride  too,  I do  ! I want  to  know  everything,  Paris, 
fetes,  pleasures.” 

Ah  ! Natalie,  this  horrible  outcry,  that  the  materi- 
alism of  the  deluded  senses  chills  by  distance  of 
time,  made  our  ears,  the  old  priest’s  and  mine,  ring 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  38 1 

again  : the  accents  of  this  magnificent  voice  told  of  a 
lifelong  struggle  : the  anguish  of  a true  love  dis- 
appointed. The  countess  rose  with  an  impatient 
motion,  like  a child  who  wants  a toy.  When  the 
confessor  saw  his  penitent  like  this,  the  poor  man 
suddenly  fell  on  his  knees,  clasped  his  hands  and 
recited  prayers. 

“ Yes,  to  live  ! ” she  said,  making  me  get  up  and 
supporting  herself  against  me,  “to  live  upon  reali- 
ties and  not  upon  lies.  Everything  in  my  life  has 
been  a lie ; for  several  days  I have  been  counting 
them,  these  impostures ! Is  it  possible  that  I can 
be  dying,  I who  have  not  lived,  I who  have  never 
been  to  look  for  anybody  on  a moor  ? ” 

She  stopped,  appeared  to  be  listening  and  detected 
I know  not  what  odor  through  the  walls. 

“ Felix ! the  vintagers  are  going  to  dine,  and  I, 
I,”  she  said  in  a childish  voice,  “who  am  the  mis- 
tress, I am  hungry.  It  is  the  same  with  love  ; they, 
they  are  happy  ! ” 

“ Kyrie  eleison!”  said  the  poor  abbe,  who,  with 
clasped  hands,  and  eyes  upturned  to  Heaven,  was 
reciting  the  litany. 

She  flung  her  arms  round  my  neck,  embraced  me 
violently  and  strained  me  to  her,  saying : 

“You  shall  not  escape  me  again  ! I want  to  be 
loved,  I will  indulge  in  follies  like  Lady  Dudley,  I 
will  learn  English  so  as  to  say  : My  Dee  properly.” 

She  nodded  at  me  as  she  used  to  do  when  she  left 
me,  to  tell  me  that  she  was  coming  back  immedi- 
ately. 


382 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“We  will  dine  together, ” she  said,  “I  will  tell 
Manette — ” 

She  was  stopped  by  a faintness  which  suddenly 
overcame  her,  and  I laid  her  all  dressed  upon  her 
bed. 

“ Once  before,  you  carried  me  like  this,”  she 
said,  opening  her  eyes. 

She  was  very  light,  but  above  all  feverish  ; when 
I took  her  up,  I felt  her  whole  body  burning.  Mon- 
sieur Deslandes  came  in,  was  astonished  to  find  the 
room  decked  out  in  this  way  ; but,  seeing  me,  all 
appeared  clear  to  him. 

“ One  suffers  a great  deal  in  dying,  monsieur,” 
she  said  in  a tremulous  voice. 

He  sat  down,  felt  his  patients  pulse,  rose  ab- 
ruptly, came  to  speak  to  the  priest  in  a low  voice, 
and  went  out ; I followed  him. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  ? ” I asked. 

“To  spare  her  frightful  agony,”  he  said.  “ Who 
could  have  believed  in  such  strength  ? We  cannot 
understand  how  it  is  she  is  still  alive  except  by 
thinking  of  the  manner  in  which  she  has  lived. 
This  is  the  forty-second  day  that  madame  la  com- 
tesse  has  neither  drunk,  nor  eaten,  nor  slept.” 

Monsieur  Deslandes  asked  for  Manette.  The 
Abbe  Birotteau  led  me  out  into  the  gardens. 

“ Let  us  leave  the  doctor  alone,”  he  said,  “ with 
Manette’s  help,  he  will  inject  opium.  Well,  you 
heard  her,”  he  said,  “ if  however  she  is  conscious 
of  these  mad  impulses  ! — ” 

“ No,”  I said,  “ she  is  no  longer  herself.” 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


383 


I was  stupefied  with  grief.  The  further  I went, 
the  more  each  detail  of  this  scene  gained  in  inten- 
sity. I went  out  abruptly  by  the  little  door  at  the 
bottom  of  the  terrace,  and  went  to  sit  in  the  ferry- 
boat, where  1 hid  myself  so  as  to  be  alone  to  devour 
my  thoughts.  I tried  to  detach  myself  from  that 
force  by  which  I lived,  a torture  like  that  with 
which  the  Tartars  used  to  punish  an  adulterer  by 
fastening  a limb  of  the  culprit  in  a piece  of  wood, 
and  leaving  him  a knife  to  cut  it  off  with,  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  die  of  hunger : a terrible  lesson  for  my 
soul,  the  best  half  of  which  had  to  be  severed  from 
me.  My  life  too  was  spoiled  ! Despair  suggested 
the  strangest  ideas  to  me.  First  I wanted  to  die 
with  her,  then  to  go  and  shut  myself  up  in  La  Meil- 
leraye,  where  the  Trappists  had  just  established 
themselves.  My  dimmed  eyes  no  longer  saw  out- 
ward objects.  I was  gazing  at  the  windows  of  the 
room  where  Henriette  was  suffering,  thinking  to  see 
the  light  which  illumined  it  on  the  night  I had  affi- 
anced myself  to  her.  Ought  I not  to  have  sub- 
mitted to  the  simple  life  she  had  created  for  me,  by 
keeping  myself  for  her  in  the  study  of  affairs?  Had 
she  not  ordained  that  I should  be  a great  man,  so  as 
to  preserve  me  from  the  low  and  shameful  passions 
that  I had  passed  through,  like  all  men  ? Was  not 
chastity  a sublime  distinction  which  I had  not  known 
how  to  keep  ? Love,  as  conceived  by  Arabella, 
suddenly  disgusted  me.  Just  as  I was  raising  my 
drooping  head  while  wondering  where  light  and  hope 
were  to  come  from  hereafter,  what  motive  I should 


384  the  lily  of  the  valley 

have  in  living,  the  air  was  stirred  by  a slight  noise. 
I turned  round  toward  the  terrace,  there  1 saw 
Madeleine  alone,  walking  slowly  up  and  down. 
Whilst  I was  climbing  up  again  toward  the  terrace 
in  order  to  call  the  dear  child  to  account  for  the  cold 
look  she  had  given  me  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  she 
was  sitting  on  the  bench  ; when  she  saw  me  half 
way,  she  got  up  and  pretended  not  to  have  seen 
me,  so  as  to  avoid  finding  herself  alone  with  me ; 
her  walk  was  hasty,  significant. 

She  hated  me,  she  was  shunning  her  mother’s 
murderer.  Returning  to  Clochegourde  by  the 
stepSj  I saw  Madeleine  like  a statue,  motionless  and 
upright,  listening  to  the  sound  of  my  footsteps. 
Jacques  was  seated  on  a step,  and  his  attitude  was 
expressive  of  the  same  insensibility  which  had 
struck  me  when  we  had  all  been  walking  together, 
and  had  suggested  those  ideas  that  we  leave  in  a 
corner  of  our  mind,  to  resume  them  and  sift  them 
later  on,  at  leisure.  I have  noticed  that  young 
people  who  bear  death  within  them  are  all  indif- 
ferent to  funerals.  I wanted  to  examine  this  sombre 
mind.  Had  Madeleine  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself 
alone,  had  she  inspired  Jacques  with  her  aver- 
sion ? 

“ You  know,”  I said  as  a way  of  beginning  the 
conversation,  “that  in  me  you  have  the  most 
devoted  of  brothers.” 

“Your  kindness  is  useless,  I shall  follow  my 
mother,”  he  replied,  giving  me  a fierce  look  of 
sorrow. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


385 


“ Jacques/’  I cried,  “ you  too?  ” 

He  coughed,  walked  far  away  from  me  ; then, 
when  he  came  back,  he  quickly  showed  me  his 
bloodstained  handkerchief. 

“Do  you  understand?  ” he  said. 

So  each  one  of  them  had  a fatal  secret.  As  I 
have  since  seen,  the  sister  and  brother  were  avoid- 
ing each  other.  Henriette  fallen,  all  was  ruin  at 
Clochegourde. 

“ Madame  is  asleep,”  Manette  came  to  tell  us, 
delighted  at  knowing  the  countess  to  be  out  of  pain. 

In  such  dreadful  moments,  although  each  one 
knows  the  inevitable  end,  true  love  goes  crazy  and 
clings  to  trifling  pleasures.  Minutes  are  ages  that 
one  longs  to  make  of  benefit.  One  would  like  the 
sick  to  be  resting  upon  roses,  one  would  like  to 
assume  their  sufferings,  one  would  like  the  last  sigh 
for  their  sakes  to  be  unexpected. 

“ Monsieur  Deslandes  has  had  the  flowers  taken 
away,  they  acted  too  strongly  on  madame’s  nerves,” 
said  Manette. 

So  then,  the  flowers  had  caused  her  delirium,  she 
had  not  been  an  accomplice  of  it.  The  loves  of  the 
earth,  the  festivities  of  fecundation,  the  caresses  of 
the  plants  had  intoxicated  her  by  their  sweetness 
and  no  doubt  had  awakened  the  thoughts  of  happy 
love  which  had  been  slumbering  within  her  ever 
since  her  youth. 

“Do  come,  Monsieur  Felix,”  she  said  to  me, 
“come  and  see  madame,  she  is  as  lovely  as  an 
angel.” 

25 


386 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I came  back  to  the  dying  woman  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting  and  gilding  the  tracery  of  the  roofs  of 
the  chateau  d’Azay.  All  was  calm  and  pure.  A 
soft  light  was  shed  upon  the  bed  in  which  Henriette 
was  reposing,  steeped  in  opium.  At  this  moment 
the  body  was,  so  to  speak,  annulled  ; the  soul  alone 
reigned  in  the  face,  serene  as  a beautiful  sky  after  a 
storm.  Blanche  and  Henriette,  these  two  glorious 
aspects  of  the  one  woman,  were  reappearing  all  the 
more  beautiful,  because  my  memory,  my  thought, 
and  my  imagination,  helping  nature,  were  repairing 
the  alterations  in  every  feature  in  which  the  trium- 
phant soul  was  emitting  its  glow  in  fluctuations  that 
blended  with  those  of  her  breathing.  The  two 
abbes  were  seated  beside  the  bed.  The  count  stood 
crushed,  recognizing  the  banners  of  death  which 
were  fluttering  over  this  worshipped  creature.  I 
took  the  place  that  she  had  occupied  on  the  sofa. 
Then  we  all  four  exchanged  looks  in  which  admira- 
tion of  this  celestial  beauty  was  mingled  with  tears 
of  regret.  The  light  of  the  soul  announced  God’s 
return  to  one  of  his  most  beautiful  tabernacles.  The 
Abbe  de  Dominis  and  I,  we  spoke  to  each  other  by 
signs,  interchanging  mutual  ideas.  Yes,  the  angels 
were  watching  over  Henriette  ! Yes,  their  blades 
were  shining  above  this  noble  brow  which  was  re- 
covering the  grand  expressions  of  that  virtue  which 
used  to  make,  as  it  were,  a visible  soul  with  which 
the  spirits  of  its  sphere  conversed.  The  lines  of  her 
face  were  becoming  purified,  everything  in  her  was 
being  ennobled  and  was  growing  majestic  beneath 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


3 87 


the  invisible  censers  of  the  seraphim  who  were 
guarding  her.  The  green  tints  of  the  bodily  suffer- 
ing were  giving  way  to  perfectly  white  tones,  to  the 
dull  cold  pallor  of  approaching  death.  Jacques  and 
Madeleine  came  in  ; Madeleine  made  us  all  shiver  at 
the  impulse  of  adoration  which  made  her  fling  her- 
self in  front  of  the  bed,  prompted  her  to  clasp  her 
hands  and  inspired  her  with  this  sublime  exclama- 
tion : 

“ At  last,  there  is  my  mother ! ” 

Jacques  was  smiling,  he  was  sure  of  following  his 
mother  where  she  was  going. 

“She  is  reaching  the  haven,”  said  the  Abbe 
Birotteau. 

The  Abbe  de  Dominis  looked  at  me  as  if  to  say  : 
“ Did  I not  tell  you  that  the  Star  would  rise  shin- 
ing  ? ” 

Madeleine  remained  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon 
her  mother,  breathing  when  she  breathed,  imitating 
her  slightest  breath,  the  last  thread  by  which  she 
was  clinging  to  life,  and  which  we  followed  with 
terror,  fearing  at  each  effort  to  see  it  break.  Like 
an  angel  at  the  gates  of  the  sanctuary,  the  young 
girl  was  eager  and  calm,  strong  and  prostrated.  At 
this  moment  the  Angelus  rang  out  from  the  town 
clock. 

The  undulations  of  the  softened  strain  wafted  the 
chimes  in  swells  which  told  us  that  at  this  hour  all 
Christianity  was  repeating  the  words  spoken  by  the 
angel  to  the  woman  who  redeemed  the  sins  of  her 
sex.  This  night  the  Ave  Maria  seemed  to  us  a 


388 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


salutation  from  Heaven.  The  prophecy  was  so 
clear  and  the  event  so  close,  that  we  burst  into 
tears.  The  murmurs  of  the  evening,  the  sweet 
breeze  in  the  foliage,  the  last  chirps  of  the  birds, 
the  chorus  and  the  hum  of  insects,  the  voice  of  the 
waters,  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  tree-frog  : the  whole 
country  was  saying  farewell  to  the  loveliest  lily  of 
the  valley,  to  her  simple,  rural  life.  This  religious 
poetry,  united  to  all  these  natural  poems,  so  well 
expressed  the  parting  chant,  that  our  sobs  were  im- 
mediately echoed.  Although  the  door  of  the  room 
was  open,  we  were  so  deeply  absorbed  in  this 
dreadful  contemplation,  as  if  to  imprint  the  memory 
of  it  forever  on  our  minds,  that  we  had  not  noticed 
the  servants  of  the  house  kneeling  in  a group,  fer- 
vently praying.  All  these  poor  folk,  brought  up  to 
hope,  still  thought  to  save  their  mistress,  and  this 
unmistakable  omen  overpowered  them.  At  a sign 
from  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  the  old  groom  went  out  to 
fetch  the  Cure  of  Sache.  The  doctor,  standing  be- 
side the  bed,  as  imperturbable  as  science,  and  who 
was  holding  the  patient’s  benumbed  hand,  had 
signed  to  the  confessor  to  tell  him  that  this  sleep 
was  the  last  painless  hour  that  remained  to  the  re- 
called angel.  The  moment  had  come  to  administer 
the  last  sacraments  of  the  Church.  At  nine  o’clock, 
she  quietly  awoke,  looked  at  us  with  an  astonished, 
but  gentle  eye,  and  we  all  once  more  beheld  our  idol 
in  the  beauty  of  her  best  days. 

“ Mother,  you  are  too  beautiful  to  die,  life  and 
health  are  coming  back  to  you  ! ” cried  Madeleine. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  389 

“ Dear  child,  I shall  live,  but  in  you,”  she  said, 
smiling. 

Then  there  were  heartrending  embraces  from  the 
mother  to  the  children  and  the  children  to  the 
mother.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  kissed  his  wife 
reverently  on  the  forehead.  The  countess  blushed 
as  she  looked  at  me. 

‘‘Dear  Felix,”  she  said,  “this,  I think,  is  the 
only  sorrow  that  I shall  ever  have  given  you,  I ! but 
forget  whatever  I may  have  said  to  you,  poor  fool 
that  I was.” 

She  stretched  out  her  hand,  I took  it  to  kiss  it,  so 
she  said  with  her  graciously  virtuous  smile  : 

“ As  in  the  old  days,  Felix  ? ” — 

We  all  left  her,  and  went  into  the  salon  for  the 
time  that  the  sick  woman’s  last  confession  was  to 
take.  1 placed  myself  beside  Madeleine.  In  the 
presence  of  all,  she  could  not  shun  me  without  rude- 
ness ; but,  in  imitation  of  her  mother,  she  looked  at 
no  one,  and  remained  silent  without  once  raising  her 
eyes  to  mine. 

“ Dear  Madeleine,”  I said  in  a low  voice,  “ what 
have  you  against  me  ? Why  these  cold  feelings,  when 
in  the  presence  of  death  all  should  be  reconciled  ? ” 

“ I fancy  I can  hear  all  that  my  mother  is  saying 
at  this  moment,”  she  answered,  assuming  the  pose 
of  head  that  Ingres  hit  upon  for  his  Mere  de  Dieu , 
that  Virgin,  already  sad  and  prepared  to  shelter  the 
world  in  which  her  Son  is  to  perish. 

“ And  you  condemn  me  at  the  very  moment  that 
your  mother  absolves  me,  if,  indeed,  I am  guilty  ? ” 


390 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


“ You,  and  always  you  ! ” 

Her  accent  betrayed  a hatred  as  deliberate  as  that 
of  a Corsican,  implacable  as  are  the  judgments  of 
those  who,  not  having  studied  life,  can  acknowl- 
edge no  extenuation  of  sins  committed  against  the 
laws  of  affection.  An  hour  elapsed  in  profound 
silence. 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  returned  after  having  heard 
the  general  confession  of  the  Comtesse  de  Mortsauf, 
and  we  all  re-entered  the  room  just  as  Henriette, 
carrying  out  one  of  those  ideas  which  strike  ex- 
alted minds,  all  sisters  in  spirit,  had  had  herself 
clothed  in  a long  garment  which  was  to  be  her 
shroud.  We  found  her  sitting  up,  happy  in  her 
atonements,  happy  in  her  hopes ; in  the  fireplace  I 
saw  the  black  ashes  of  my  letters,  which  had  just 
been  burned,  a sacrifice  that  she  would  not  make, 
the  confessor  told  me,  until  the  moment  of  death. 
She  smiled  at  us  all  with  her  old  smile.  Her  tear- 
filled  eyes  told  of  supreme  revelation,  she  could 
already  behold  the  celestial  joys  of  the  promised  land. 

“ Dear  Felix,”  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
me  and  squeezing  mine,  “stay.  You  must  help  in 
one  of  the  last  scenes,  of  my  life,  and  one  which  will 
not  be  the  least  painful  of  all,  but  in  which  you  are 
deeply  concerned.” 

She  made  a sign,  and  the  door  was  shut.  At  her 
invitation,  the  count  sat  down  ; the  Abbe  Birotteau 
and  I,  we  remained  standing.  Assisted  by  Manette, 
the  countess  got  up,  knelt  down  in  front  of  the 
count  and  insisted  upon  remaining  so.  Then,  wf)en 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


391 


Manette  had  retired,  she  raised  her  head,  which  she 
had  leant  upon  the  knees  of  the  astonished  count. 

“ Although  I have  behaved  toward  you  as  a faith- 
ful wife,”  she  said  in  a faltering  voice,  “ I may, 
monsieur,  have  sometimes  failed  in  my  duties  ; I 
have  just  prayed  to  God  to  grant  me  the  strength  to 
ask  your  forgiveness  for  my  faults.  In  the  solic- 
itude of  a friendship  bestowed  outside  the  family,  I 
may  have  shown  more  affectionate  attentions  than 
those  I owed  to  you.  I may  perhaps  have  irritated 
you  against  me  by  the  comparison  that  you  might 
have  made  between  these  cares,  these  thoughts  and 
those  I gave  to  you.  I have  had,”  she  said  in  a low 
voice,  “ a deep  friendship  that  nobody,  not  even  he 
who  was  its  object,  has  fully  known.  Although  I 
have  remained  virtuous  according  to  human  laws, 
although  I have  been  an  irreproachable  wife  to  you, 
thoughts,  involuntary  or  voluntary,  have  often 
flashed  across  my  mind,  and  I am  now  afraid  that  I 
welcomed  them  too  kindly.  But,  as  I have  loved 
you  tenderly,  as  I have  remained  your  submissive 
wife,  and  as  the  clouds,  in  passing  through  the  sky, 
have  not  altered  its  purity,  you  see  me  asking  for 
your  blessing  with  an  innocent  brow.  I shall  die 
without  any  bitter  thought  if  I hear  from  your  lips  a 
gentle  word  for  your  Blanche,  for  the  mother  of 
your  children,  and  if  you  will  forgive  her  all  those 
things  that  she  has  only  forgiven  herself  after  the 
assurances  of  the  tribunal  upon  which  we  all  de- 
pend.” 

“ Blanche,  Blanche,”  cried  the  old  man,  suddenly 


392 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


shedding  tears  on  his  wife’s  head,  “ do  you  want 
to  kill  me?”  He  raised  her  to  him  with  unusual 
force,  kissed  her  religiously  on  the  forehead  and, 
holding  her  thus  : “ Have  1 no  pardon  to  ask  from 
you  ? — ” he  continued.  “ Have  1 not  often  been 
hard,  I ? Are  you  not  exaggerating  childish 
scruples  ? ” 

“ Maybe,”  she  rejoined.  “ But,  dear  one,  be  in- 
dulgent to  the  weaknesses  of  the  dying,  make  my 
mind  easy.  When  this  hour  comes  to  you,  you  will 
remember  that  I left  you,  blessing  you.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  leave  to  our  friend  here  this  token  of  a 
deep  feeling?  ” she  said,  pointing  to  a letter  which 
was  on  the  mantelpiece.  “ He  is  now  my  adopted 
son,  that  is  all.  The  heart,  dear  count,  has  its  testa- 
ments : my  last  wishes  charge  this  dear  Felix  with 
the  fulfilment  of  sacred  deeds,  I do  not  think  I have 
presumed  too  much  upon  him,  make  it  so  that  I may 
not  have  presumed  too  much  upon  you  by  permit- 
ting me  to  leave  him  a few  thoughts.  I am  a wo- 
man after  all,”  she  said,  drooping  her  head  with 
gentle  melancholy:  “after  my  pardon.  I ask  a 
favor  of  you. — Read  it,  but  only  after  my  death,” 
she  said,  holding  out  the  mysterious  writing  to  me. 

The  count  saw  his  wife  turn  pale,  he  picked  her 
up  and  himself  carried  her  to  the  bed,  where  we 
surrounded  her.  “ Felix,”  she  said,  “ I may  have 
treated  you  badly.  I may  often  have  caused  you 
suffering  by  letting  you  hope  for  joys  from  which  I 
have  shrunk ; but  do  I not  owe  it  to  the  courage 
of  the  wife  and  mother  to  die  at  peace  with  all  ? So 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


393 


you  too  must  forgive  me,  you  who  so  often  re- 
proached me,  and  whose  injustice  gave  me  pleas- 
ure ! ” 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  put  a finger  to  his  lips.  At 
this  gesture,  the  dying  woman  bowed  her  head,  a 
faintness  came  upon  her,  she  moved  her  hands  so  as 
to  have  the  clergy,  her  children  and  her  servants 
admitted ; then,  with  an  imperious  gesture,  she 
showed  me  the  brokenhearted  count  and  her  pros- 
trated children.  The  prospect  of  this  father,  whose 
secret  insanity  we  alone  knew,  becoming  the  guard- 
ian of  these  extremely  delicate  creatures,  inspired 
her  with  mute  entreaties  which  sank  into  my  soul 
like  sacred  fire.  Before  receiving  extreme  unction, 
she  asked  her  servants  to  pardon  her  for  having 
been  sometimes  hasty  with  them ; she  implored 
their  prayers,  and  commended  each  one  individually 
to  the  count ; she  nobly  acknowledged  that  during 
the  past  month  she  had  uttered  somewhat  unchris- 
tian complaints  which  might  have  shocked  her 
servants ; she  had  repulsed  her  children,  she  had 
entertained  feelings  that  were  not  very  seemly  ; but 
she  attributed  this  lack  of  submission  to  God’s  will, 
to  her  intolerable  sufferings.  Finally,  with  a touch- 
ing burst  of  affection,  she  publicly  thanked  the 
Abbe  Birotteau  for  having  pointed  out  to  her  the 
nothingness  of  human  things.  When  she  had  ceased 
speaking,  prayers  began  ; then  the  cure  of  Sache 
gave  her  the  viaticum.  A few  moments  after,  her 
breathing  became  impeded,  a cloud  spread  over  her 
eyes,  which  soon  opened  again  : she  gave  me  a last 


394 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


glance,  and  died  before  us  all,  perhaps  hearing  our 
united  sobs.  Just  as  she  breathed  her  last  sigh,  the 
last  suffering  of  a life  that  had  been  one  long  suffer- 
ing, I felt  a blow  within  me  which  paralyzed  all  my 
faculties.  The  count  and  I remained  all  night  be- 
side the  deathbed  with  the  two  abbes  and  the 
cure,  watching,  by  the  light  of  the  tapers,  the 
dead  woman  stretched  out  upon  her  mattress ; 
untroubled  now,  where  she  had  suffered  so  much. 

It  was  my  first  communication  with  the  dead. 
All  that  night  I remained  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
Henriette,  fascinated  by  the  pure  expression  which 
comes  from  the  lull  in  all  storms,  by  the  white- 
ness of  the  face  which  I endowed  once  more  with  its 
innumerable  qualities,  but  which  no  longer  responded 
to  my  love.  What  majesty  in  this  silence  and  cold  ! 
how  many  thoughts  did  it  not  express  ? What 
beauty  in  this  absolute  repose,  what  despotism  in 
this  immobility  ! all  the  past  is  in  it,  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  future.  Ah  ! I loved  her  dead,  as  much 
as  I loved  her  living.  At  dawn  the  count  went  to 
bed,  the  three  priests,  tired  out,  fell  asleep  at  this 
languid  hour,  so  familiar  to  those  who  watch. 
Then,  I was  able,  unwitnessed,  to  kiss  her  forehead 
with  all  the  love  that  she  had  never  allowed  me  to 
express. 


The  third  day,  on  a cool  autumn  morning,  we 
accompanied  the  countess  to  her  last  resting-place. 
She  was  carried  by  the  old  groom,  the  two  Marti- 
neaus  and  Manette’s  husband.  We  went  down  by 
the  road  that  1 had  so  gayly  ascended  on  the  day 
that  I found  her  again  ; we  crossed  the  valley  of  the 
Indre  to  reach  the  little  cemetery  of  Sache  ; a hum- 
ble village  cemetery,  situated  on  the  other  side  of 
the  church,  on  the  crest  of  a hill,  and  where,  with 
Christian  humility,  she  wished  to  be  buried  with  a 
simple  black  wooden  cross,  like  a poor  woman  of 
the  fields,  she  had  said.  When,  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley,  I saw  the  town  church  and  the  situation 
of  the  cemetery,  I was  seized  with  a convulsive 
shiver.  Alas  ! in  all  our  lives  there  is  a Golgotha 
where  we  leave  our  first  thirty-three  years,  with 
the  ^thrust  of  a spear  in  our  hearts,  and  feeling  the 
crown  of  thorns  upon  our  heads  instead  of  the 
wreath  of  roses ; this  hill  was  to  be  my  mount  of 
expiation.  We  were  followed  by  an  immense 
crowd,  gathered  together  to  show  the  regrets  of  this 
valley  where  she  had  silently  interred  a multitude 
of  good  actions.  We  heard  from  Manette,  her  con- 
(395) 


396 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


fidante,  that,  in  order  to  help  the  poor,  she  economized 
in  her  dress,  whenever  her  savings  were  not  suffi- 
cient. There  were  naked  children  clothed,  layettes 
provided,  mothers  relieved,  sacks  of  corn  for  the 
helpless  aged  in  winter,  for  which  the  millers  were 
paid  by  her,  a cow  given  to  some  poor  household, 
in  short, the  deeds  of  a Christian  woman,  the  mother 
and  the  lady  of  the  manor  ; then  dowries  offered  op- 
portunely to  unite  couples  who  loved  each  other,  and 
substitutions  paid  for  young  men  whose  lot  had  been 
drawn,  touching  offerings  of  the  loving  woman  who 
said  : The  happiness  of  others  is  the  consolation  of  those 
who  can  never  he  happy  again.  These  things,  related 
at  all  the  vigils  of  the  last  three  days,  had  made  the 
crowd  enormous.  I was  walking  behind  the  coffin 
with  Jacques  and  the  two  abbes.  According  to 
custom,  neither  Madeleine  nor  the  count  were  with 
us,  they  stayed  alone  at  Clochegourde.  Manette 
absolutely  insisted  upon  going. 

“ Poor  madame ! poor  madame ! now  she  is 
happy/’  I heard  at  different  intervals  through  her 
sobs. 

Just  as  the  procession  left  the  causeway  of  the 
mills,  there  was  a universal  moan  mingled  with 
tears  which  made  one  think  that  the  valley  was 
bewailing  its  soul.  The  church  was  full  of  people. 
After  the  service,  we  went  to  the  cemetery  where 
she  was  to  be  buried  close  to  the  crucifix.  When  I 
heard  the  stones  and  gravel  rattling  upon  the  coffin, 
my  courage  forsook  me,  I staggered,  I begged  the 
two  Martineaus  to  hold  me  up,  and  they  led  me, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


397 


deathlike,  to  the  chateau  of  Sache ; the  owners 
politely  offered  me  shelter,  which  I accepted.  I 
acknowledge,  I did  not  at  all  want  to  return  to 
Clochegourde,  and  I felt  reluctant  to  find  myself 
again  at  Frapesle,  whence  I could  see  Henriette’s 
castle.  Here,  I was  near  her.  I stayed  several 
days  in  a room  the  windows  of  which  looked  out 
upon  this  quiet,  solitary  vale  of  which  I have  told 
you.  It  is  a vast  ridge  of  ground  bordered  by  oak- 
trees  two  hundred  years  old,  and  where  during 
heavy  rains  a torrent  flows.  This  view  suited  the 
stern  and  solemn  meditation  to  which  I wished  to 
devote  myself.  During  the  day  which  followed  the 
fatal  night,  I had  seen  how  inconvenient  my  pres- 
ence would  be  at  Clochegourde.  The  count  had 
undergone  violent  emotion  at  Henriette's  death,  but 
he  was  expecting  this  terrible  event,  and  in  the 
depths  of  his  mind  there  was  an  acquiescence  which 
was  almost  like  indifference.  I had  noticed  it  sev- 
eral times,  and,  when  the  prostrate  countess  handed 
me  that  letter  that  I dared  not  open,  when  she 
spoke  of  her  affection  for  me,  this  suspicious  man  did 
not  give  me  the  withering  look  I had  expected.  He 
had  attributed  Henriette’s  words  to  the  excessive 
delicacy  of  the  conscience  he  knew  to  be  so  pure. 
This  egotistical  obtuseness  was  natural.  The  souls 
of  these  two  beings  had  been  no  more  united  than 
their  bodies,  they  had  never  had  any  of  that  un- 
broken intercourse  which  revives  sentiment ; they 
had  never  exchanged  either  pains  or  pleasures,  those 
strong  links  which  bruise  us  in  a thousand  parts 


398 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


when  they  break,  because  they  touch  all  our  fibres, 
because  they  have  attached  themselves  in  the  re- 
cesses of  our  hearts,  at  the  same  time  that  they  have 
fostered  the  spirit  that  sanctioned  each  one  of  these 
links.  Madeleine’s  enmity  shut  me  out  from  Cloche- 
gourde.  This  hard  young  girl  was  not  inclined  to 
compound  with  her  hatred,  over  her  mother’s  coffin, 
and  I should  have  felt  terribly  uncomfortable  be- 
tween the  count,  who  would  have  talked  of  himself, 
and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  would  have 
shown  me  unconquerable  aversion.  To  be  thus, 
there  where  the  flowers  themselves  used  to  be 
caressing,  where  the  steps  of  the  perrons  were 
eloquent,  where  all  my  memories  clothed  the  bal- 
conies, the  kerb-stones,  the  balustrades  and  terraces, 
the  trees  and  the  views,  with  poetry ; to  be  hated 
there  where  all  used  to  love  me : I could  not  bear 
the  thought.  And  so,  from  the  outset,  my  decision 
was  taken.  Alas  ! such  then  was  the  end  of  the  most 
intense  love  that  ever  came  to  the  heart  of  man.  In 
the  eyes  of  strangers,  my  behavior  would  appear 
reprehensible,  but  it  had  the  approval  of  my  con- 
science. Such  is  the  way  in  which  the  best  feelings 
and  the  greatest  tragedies  of  youth  come  to  an  end. 
We  nearly  all  set  out  in  the  morning,  as  I did 
from  Tours  for  Clochegourde,  taking  possession  of 
the  world,  our  hearts  starving  for  love  ; then,  when 
our  riches  have  passed  the  test,  when  we  have  been 
mixed  up  with  men  and  events,  everything  gradually 
shrinks,  and  we  find  but  little  gold  amidst  a great 
many  ashes. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


399 


Such  is  life  ! life  as  it  is  : great  pretensions,  trivial 
realities.  1 thought  a long  time  about  myself,  won- 
dering what  I was  to  do  after  a blow  that  had  mown 
down  all  my  flowers.  I resolved  to  fling  myself  into 
politics  and  science,  into  the  tortuous  paths  of  ambi- 
tion, to  drive  woman  out  of  my  life  and  to  become  a 
statesman,  cold  and  passionless,  to  remain  faithful 
to  the  saint  I had  loved.  My  meditations  wandered 
at  random,  whilst  my  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the 
magnificent  tapestry  of  the  gilded  oaks,  with  the 
stern  crests,  and  the  feet  of  bronze  ; I was  wonder- 
ing whether  Henriette’s  virtue  had  not  been  igno- 
rance, whether  I was  indeed  guilty  of  her  death.  I 
was  struggling  in  the  midst  of  my  remorse.  Finally, 
on  a mild  autumn  noon,  one  of  the  sky’s  dying 
smiles,  so  beautiful  in  Touraine,  I read  her  letter, 
which,  according  to  her  request,  I was  not  to  open 
until  after  her  death.  Imagine  my  impressions  as  I 
read  it ! 

LETTER  FROM  MADAME  DE  MORTSAUF  TO  THE  VI- 
COMTE  FELIX  DE  VANDENESSE. 

“ Felix,  too  well-beloved  friend,  I must  now  open 
my  heart  to  you,  not  so  much  to  show  you  how 
much  I love  you,  as  to  show  you  the  magnitude  of 
your  obligations  by  disclosing  to  you  the  depth  and 
gravity  of  the  wounds  that  you  have  made  in  it. 
Just  as  I fall,  tired  out  with  the  fatigues  of  the  jour- 
ney, exhausted  by  the  blows  received  during  the 
struggle,  the  woman  happily  is  dead,  the  mother 


400 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


only  survives.  You  will  see,  dear,  how  you  were 
the  first  cause  of  all  my  misfortunes.  If  later  on  I 
offered  myself  complaisantly  to  your  attacks,  to-day 
I am  dying,  struck  by  a final  injury  from  you  ; but 
there  is  exceeding  pleasure  in  feeling  one’s  self  crush- 
ed by  him  one  loves.  Pain  will  doubtless  soon  de- 
prive me  of  my  strength,  so  I take  advantage  of  the 
last  gleams  of  my  intelligence  to  beg  you  once  more 
to  replace  beside  my  children  the  he^rt  you  have 
bereaved  them  of.  I should  impose  this  charge 
upon  you  with  authority  did  I love  you  less ; but  I 
prefer  to  let  you  undertake  it  of  your  own  accord, 
as  the  result  of  a holy  repentance,  and  also  as  a 
continuance  of  your  love  : was  not  our  love  con- 
stantly mingled  with  penitent  meditations  and 
expiatory  fears  ? And,  I know,  we  love  each 
other  still.  Your  fault  is  not  so  fatal  through 
you  as  through  the  resonance  I have  permitted  it 
within  myself.  Did  I not  tell  you  I was  jealous, 
but  jealous  unto  death  ? Well,  I am  dying.  And 
yet,  take  comfort : we  have  complied  with  human 
laws.  The  Church,  by  one  of  its  purest  voices,  has 
told  me  that  God  will  be  merciful  to  those  who  have 
sacrificed  their  natural  inclinations  to  His  command- 
ments. My  beloved,  then  hear  it  all,  for  I do  not 
want  you  to  be  ignorant  of  a single  thought.  What 
1 confide  to  God  in  my  last  moments,  you  too  should 
know, —you  the  king  of  my  heart,  as  He  is  King  of 
Heaven.  Until  that  fete  given  to  the  Due  d’An- 
gouleme,  the  only  one  at  which  I was  present, 
marriage  had  left  me  in  the  ignorance  which  gives^ 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  401 

angelic  beauty  to  the  souls  of  young  girls.  I was  a 
mother,  it  is  true ; but  love  had  not  encompassed 
me  with  its  lawful  pleasures.  How  was  it  I had 
remained  like  this  ? I do  not  know ; neither  do  1 
know  by  what  laws  all  within  me  was  changed  in 
one  instant.  Do  you  still  remember  your  kisses  ? 
They  have  dominated  my  life,  they  have  furrowed 
my  soul ; the  ardor  of  your  blood  awoke  the  ardor 
of  mine  ; your  youth  penetrated  my  youth,  your 
desires  entered  into  my  heart.  When  I got  up  so 
proudly,  1 was  experiencing  a sensation  for  which  I 
know  no  word  in  any  tongue,  for  children  have  not 
yet  found  speech  to  express  the  union  of  the  light 
and  their  eyes,  nor  the  kiss  of  life  upon  their  lips. 
Yes,  it  was  indeed  sound  reaching  echo,  light  flung 
upon  the  gloom,  animation  given  to  the  uni- 
verse, at  any  rate,  it  was  as  swift  as  all  these 
things ; but  much  better,  for  it  was  the  life 
of  the  soul ! I understood  that  a mysterious 
something  existed  for  me  in  the  world,  a force  far 
better  than  thought,  it  was  all  the  thoughts,  all  the 
forces,  a whole  future  in  a joint  emotion.  I felt  that 
I was  but  half  a mother.  In  falling  upon  my  heart, 
this  thunderbolt  set  fire  to  the  desires  that  were 
slumbering  unknown  to  me ; I suddenly  divined  all 
that  my  aunt  meant  when  she  used  to  kiss  me  on 
the  forehead,  crying  : Poor  Henriette ! Upon  return- 
ing to  Clochegourde,  the  spring,  the  early  leaves, 
the  scent  of  the  flowers,  the  pretty  white  clouds,  the 
Indre,  the  sky,  all  spoke  a hitherto  unknown  lan- 
guage, that  produced  upon  my  mind  a little  of  the  ex- 
26 


402  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

citement  you  had  imparted  to  my  senses.  If  you 
have  forgotten  those  terrible  kisses,  I have  never 
been  able  to  efface  them  from  my  memory  : they 
are  killing  me  ! Yes,  each  time  that  I have  seen 
you  since,  you  revived  the  impress  of  them  ; I was 
stirred  from  head  to  foot  at  the  sight  of  you,  by  the 
mere  presentiment  of  your  coming.  Neither  time 
nor  my  firm  will  have  been  able  to  quell  this  uncon- 
trollable delight.  I used  to  wonder  involuntarily  : 
* What  must  pleasure  be? , Our  interchanged 
looks,  the  respectful  kisses  you  bestowed  upon  my 
hands,  my  arm  placed  in  yours,  your  voice  in  its 
tones-of  tenderness,  in  short,  the  least  things  stirred 
me  so  violently,  that  a dimness  nearly  always  came 
over  my  eyes  : the  rush  of  the  rebellious  senses 
then  filled  my  ears.  Ah  ! if  in  those  moments  when 
I redoubled  my  coldness,  you  had  taken  me  in  your 
arms,  I should  have  died  of  happiness.  I have 
sometimes  longed  for  some  violence  on  your  part, 
but  prayer  would  promptly  chase  away  this  evil 
thought.  Your  name  uttered  by  the  children  used  to 
fill  my  heart  with  a hotter  blood  which  immediately 
colored  my  face,  and  I would  lay  traps  for  my  poor 
Madeleine  to  make  her  speak  it,  so  much  did  I love 
the  tumults  of  this  sensation.  How  can  I tell  you  ? 
your  writing  had  a charm,  I gazed  at  your  letters  as 
one  contemplates  a portrait. 

“ If,  from  the  first  day,  you  had  already  acquired  I 
know  not  what  fatal  power  over  me,  you  will  under- 
stand, my  darling,  that  it  became  infinite  when  I 
was  permitted  to  read  your  soul.  How  overflowing 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


403 


with  delight  I was  at  finding  you  so  pure,  so  abso- 
lutely true,  gifted  with  such  fine  qualities,  capable 
of  such  great  things,  and  already  so  experienced  ! 
Man  and  child,  timid  and  brave  ! What  joy  when 
I found  us  both  consecrated  by  common  suffer- 
ings ! Since  that  evening  when  we  confided  in  each 
other,  to  lose  you  meant  death  to  me  : and  so  I 
kept  you  by  me  out  of  selfishness.  Monsieur  de  la 
Berge's  conviction  of  the  death  that  would  result  to 
me  from  your  departure  touched  him  deeply,  for  he 
saw  into  my  soul.  He  deemed  me  necessary  to  my 
children,  to  the  count : he  did  not  order  me  to  deny 
you  admittance  into  my  house,  for  I promised  him  I 
would  remain  pure  in  deed  and  thought : * Thought 
is  involuntary/  he  said,  ‘ but  it  can  be  guarded  in 
the  midst  of  torture/ — ‘ If  I think/  I replied,  * all 
is  lost ; save  me  from  myself.  Make  it  so  that  he 
can  remain  with  me,  and  that  I may  continue  pure  ! ’ 
The  good  old  man,  although  very  strict,  was  then 
indulgent  to  so  much  good  faith.  ‘ You  may  love 
him  as  one  loves  a son,  by  destining  him  for  your 
daughter/  he  said.  I bravely  accepted  a life  of 
suffering  so  as  not  to  lose  you ; and  I suffered 
gladly  at  seeing  that  we  were  both  fastened  to 
the  same  yoke.  My  God ! I remained  neutral, 
faithful  to  my  husband,  not  allowing  you  to  take 
a single  step,  Felix,  in  your  own  kingdom.  The 
magnitude  of  my  passions  has  reacted  on  my  fac- 
ulties, I have  regarded  the  torments  inflicted  upon 
me  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  as  expiations,  and  I 
endured  them  with  pride  so  as  to  do  violence  to  my 


404 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


guilty  inclinations.  Formerly,  I was  disposed  to 
murmur ; but  since  you  have  been  near  me,  I have 
recovered  some  cheerfulness,  by  which  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  has  benefited.  But  for  the  strength  you 
lent  me,  I should  have  succumbed  long  since  to  the 
home  life  of  which  I told  you.  If  you  have  had 
much  to  do  with  my  shortcomings,  you  have  had 
much  to  do  with  the  exercise  of  my  duties.  It  was 
the  same  with  my  children.  I thought  I had  deprived 
them  of  something,  and  feared  lest  I should  never 
be  able  to  do  enough  for  them.  From  that  time,  my 
life  has  been  one  continual  sorrow  that  I loved.  At 
feeling  that  I was  less  of  a mother,  less  of  an  honest 
woman,  remorse  has  taken  up  its  abode  in  my  heart ; 
and,  fearing  to  fail  in  my  obligations  I have  con- 
stantly tried  to  go  beyond  them.  To  avoid  back- 
sliding, I therefore  put  Madeleine  between  you  and 
myself,  and  I destined  you  for  each  other,  thus 
raising  barriers  between  us  two.  Ineffectual  bar- 
riers ! nothing  could  stifle  the  thrills  you  caused  me. 
Absent  or  present,  you  had  the  same  power.  I have 
preferred  Madeleine  to  Jacques,  because  Madeleine 
was  to  belong  to  you.  But  I did  not  give  you  up  to 
my  daughter  without  a struggle.  I said  to  myself 
that  I was  only  twenty-eight  when  I met  you,  that 
you  were  almost  twenty-two  ; I lessened  the  gap,  I 
yielded  to  false  hopes.  Oh  ! my  God  ! Felix,  I make 
these  confessions  to  you  so  as  to  spare  you  remorse, 
also  perhaps  to  show  you  that  I was  not  insensible, 
that  our  sufferings  of  love  were  cruelly  alike,  and 
that  Arabella  had  no  superiority  over  me.  I too  was 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


405 


one  of  those  daughters  of  the  fallen  race  that  men 
love  so  well.  There  was  a time  when  the  struggle 
was  so  awful,  that  I used  to  cry  all  night  long  ; my 
hair  fell  out.  You  had  that  hair ! You  remember 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  illness.  Your  grandeur  of 
soul  at  that  time,  far  from  exalting  me,  only  abased 
me.  Alas  ! from  that  day,  I longed  to  give  myself 
to  you  as  a reward  due  to  so  much  heroism ; but 
this  madness  did  not  last  long.  I laid  it  at  the  feet 
of  God  during  the  Mass  at  which  you  refused  to  be 
present.  Jacques's  illness  and  Madeleine's  sufferings 
have  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  threats  of  God,  who 
was  forcibly  drawing  the  wandering  sheep  to  Him- 
self. Then  your  very  natural  love  for  this  English- 
woman revealed  secrets  to  me  that  I myself  was  un- 
conscious of.  I loved  you  more  than  I thought  I did. 
Madeleine  was  effaced.  The  ceaseless  emotions  of 
my  stormy  life,  the  efforts  that  I made  to  overcome 
myself  with  no  other  help  than  that  of  religion,  have 
all  paved  the  way  for  the  malady  of  which  I am  dy- 
ing. This  terrible  blow  has  determined  the  attacks 
about  which  I have  kept  silence.  I saw  in  death 
the  only  possible  ending  to  this  secret  tragedy. 
There  was  a whole  lifetime  of  passion,  jealousy  and 
fury,  during  the  two  months  that  elapsed  between 
the  news  that  my  mother  gave  me  of  your  connection 
with  Lady  Dudley,  and  your  arrival.  I longed  to  go 
to  Paris,  I was  thirsting  to  kill,  I longed  for  this 
woman’s  death,  I was  indifferent  to  my  children's 
caresses.  Prayer,  which  had  hitherto  been  as  balm, 
had  no  effect  upon  my  soul.  Jealousy  has  made  the 


406 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


great  breach  by  which  death  has  entered.  Never- 
theless I always  kept  an  unruffled  brow.  Yes,  this 
period  of  warfare  was  a secret  between  God  and  my- 
self. When  I really  knew  that  I was  loved  as  much 
as  I loved  you,  and  that  I had  been  betrayed  by 
nature  only  and  not  by  intention,  I wanted  to  live — 
and  it  was  too  late.  God  had  placed  me  under  His 
protection,  His  pity,  no  doubt,  was  aroused  for  a 
creature  who  was  true  to  herself,  true  to  Him,  and 
whose  sufferings  had  often  led  her  to  the  gates  of  the 
sanctuary.  My  well-beloved,  God  has  judged  me, 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  will  no  doubt  forgive  me  ; but 
you,  would  you  be  merciful  ? Would  you  listen  to 
the  voice  which  comes  now  from  my  grave  ? Would 
you  repair  the  misfortunes  of  which  we  are  equally 
guilty,  you  less  than  me  perhaps  ? You  know  what 
I want  to  ask  you.  Be  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  as 
a Sister  of  Charity  to  a sick  person,  listen  to  him,  love 
him  ; no  one  will  love  him.  Interpose  between  him 
and  his  children  as  I used  to  do.  Your  task  will  not 
last  long ; Jacques  will  soon  be  leaving  home  for 
Paris  to  be  with  his  grandfather,  and  you  have 
promised  me  to  guide  him  through  the  perils  of  this 
world.  As  to  Madeleine,  she  will  marry  ; if  you 
might  only  please  her  one  day ! she  is  myself  all 
over,  and,  more  than  that,  she  is  strong,  she  has 
that  will  in  which  I have  been  lacking,  that  energy 
necessary  to  the  companion  of  a man  who  is  des- 
tined by  his  career  to  the  storms  of  political  life,  she 
is  shrewd  and  penetrating.  Should  your  destinies 
be  united,  she  will  be  happier  than  was  her  mother. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


407 


By  thus  acquiring  the  right  to  carry  on  my  work  at 
Clochegourde,  you  will  wipe  away  faults  that  will 
not  have  been  sufficiently  atoned  for,  although  par- 
doned in  Heaven  and  upon  earth,  for  he  is  generous 
and  will  forgive  me.  You  see,  I am  always  selfish  ; 
but  is  it  not  the  proof  of  an  all-absorbing  love  ? I 
want  to  be  loved  by  you  in  my  family.  Not  having 
been  able  to  belong  to  you,  I leave  you  my  thoughts 
and  my  duties  ! If  you  love  me  too  much  to  obey 
me,  if  you  will  not  marry  Madeleine,  at  least  you 
will  watch  over  the  repose  of  my  soul  by  making 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  as  happy  as  he  can  be. 

“ Farewell,  dear  child  of  my  heart ! this  is  the  com- 
pletely intelligent  farewell,  as  yet  full  of  life,  the 
farewell  of  a soul  upon  which  you  have  shed  too 
many  great  joys  for  you  to  have  the  least  remorse 
for  the  catastrophe  they  have  brought  about ; I make 
use  of  this  word  in  remembering  that  you  love  me, 
for,  I,  I am  reaching  the  place  of  rest,  a sacrifice  to 
duty,  and,  what  makes  me  shiver,  not  without 
regret ! God  knows  better  than  I do  whether  I have 
practised  His  holy  laws  according  to  their  spirit.  No 
doubt  I have  often  stumbled,  but  I have  not  fallen, 
and  the  most  powerful  excuse  for  my  sin  is  in  the 
very  magnitude  of  the  seductions  which  encircled 
me.  The  Saviour  will  behold  me  as  trembling  as  if 
I had  succumbed.  Good-bye  once  more,  a good-bye 
like  that  which  I said  yesterday  to  our  beautiful 
valley,  in  whose  bosom  I shall  soon  be  resting,  and 
which  you  will  often  revisit,  will  you  not  ? 

“ Henriette.” 


408 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


I fell  into  an  abyss  of  reflection  upon  discovering 
the  unknown  depths  of  this  life,  now  illumined  by 
this  final  flame.  The  clouds  of  my  egotism  were 
dispelled.  So  she  had  suffered  as  much  as  I,  more 
than  I,  for  she  was  dead.  She  believed  that  others 
ought  to  be  kind  to  her  lover ; she  had  been  so 
thoroughly  blinded  by  her  love,  that  she  had  not  sus- 
pected her  daughter’s  ill-will.  This  last  proof  of  her 
fondness  troubled  me  greatly.  Poor  Henriette,  who 
wanted  to  give  me  Clochegourde  and  her  daughter ! 

Natalie,  since  that  ever  terrible  day  upon  which  I 
first  entered  a cemetery  to  accompany  the  remains 
of  this  noble  Henriette,  whom  you  now  know,  the 
sun  has  been  less  warm  and  less  luminous,  the  night 
darker,  life  less  active,  and  thought  much  slower. 
There  are  people  whom  we  bury  in  the  ground,  but 
there  are  some  more  particularly  beloved  whose 
shroud  is  our  heart,  whose  memory  mingles  every 
day  with  its  beats  ; we  think  cf  them  as  we  breathe, 
they  are  in  us  by  means  of  the  mild  law  of  a trans- 
mutation peculiar  to  love.  A soul  is  within  my  soul. 
Whenever  I do  some  good,  whenever  I say  a kind 
word,  this  soul  speaks,  it  acts  ; all  that  I may  have 
of  good  in  me  emanates  from  this  tomb,  just  as  the 
fragrance  of  a lily  scents  the  air.  Mockery,  evil, 
all  that  you  disapprove  of  in  me  comes  from  myself. 
Now,  when  my  eyes  are  darkened  by  a cloud  and 
stray  toward  Heaven,  after  having  gazed  long  upon 
the  ground,  when  my  lips  do  not  answer  your  words 
and  your  attentions,  never  ask  me  : What  are  you 
thinking  of? 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


409 


Dear  Natalie,  I have  stopped  writing  for  some 
time  ; these  memories  stirred  me  too  deeply.  Now, 
I must  tell  you  the  story  of  the  events  which  fol- 
lowed this  calamity,  and  which  requires  but  few 
words.  When  a life  consists  of  nothing  but  action 
and  movement,  all  is  soon  told  ; but,  when  it  passes 
into  the  loftiest  regions  of  the  soul,  its  history  is  dif- 
fuse. Henriette’s  letter  brought  a gleam  of  hope 
before  my  eyes.  Out  of  this  great  wreck  I saw  one 
island  upon  which  I might  alight.  To  live  at  Cloche- 
gourde  near  Madeleine,  devoting  my  life  to  her,  was 
a course  which  complied  with  all  the  ideas  that  were 
agitating  my  heart ; but  it  was  necessary  to  find  out 
Madeleine’s  real  opinion.  I had  to  go  and  say  good- 
bye to  the  count ; so  I went  to  Clochegourde  to  see 
him,  and  met  him  on  the  terrace.  We  walked  up 
and  down  a long  time.  At  first,  he  spoke  of  the 
countess  as  a man  who  realized  the  extent  of  his  loss 
and  all  the  havoc  it  had  wrought  in  his  home  life. 
But,  after  the  first  outcry  of  sorrow,  he  seemed  to  be 
more  engrossed  in  the  future  than  the  present.  He 
was  afraid  of  his  daughter,  who,  he  said,  had  not 
her  mother’s  gentleness.  The  resolute  character  of 
Madeleine,  in  whom  an  indescribable  heroism  was 
mingled  with  her  mother’s  gracious  qualities,  ter- 
rified this  old  man,  accustomed  to  Henriette’s  ten- 
derness, and  who  anticipated  a will  that  nothing 
could  bend.  But  if  anything  could  console  him  for 
this  irreparable  loss,  it  was  the  certainty  of  soon  re- 
joining his  wife  : the  emotions  and  griefs  of  these 
last  few  days  had  increased  his  unhealthy  condition, 


410  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

and  revived  his  old  pains ; the  struggle  which  was 
brewing  between  his  parental  authority  and  that  of 
his  daughter,  who  was  becoming  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  was  going  to  end  his  days  in  bitterness  ; for 
where  he  had  been  able  to  fight  against  his  wife,  he 
would  always  have  to  yield  to  his' child.  And  then, 
his  son  would  go  away,  his  daughter  would  marry  ; 
what  sort  of  son-in-law  would  he  have  ? Although  he 
spoke  of  dying  immediately,  he  felt  himself  alone, 
without  sympathy,  for  a long  time  to  come. 

During  this  hour,  in  which  he  talked  of  nothing  but 
himself,  asking  me  to  befriend  him  in  the  name  of 
his  wife,  he  drew  me  the  finishing  stroke  in  the  grand 
figure  of  the  Emigre,  one  of  the  most  imposing 
types  of  our  period.  He  was  apparently  feeble  and 
broken  down,  but  it  seemed  as  if  life  were  bound  to 
go  on  persisting  in  him  just  because  of  his  sober  habits 
and  rural  occupations.  As  I write  this,  he  is  still  alive. 

Although  Madeleine  could  see  us  going  along  the 
terrace,  she  did  not  come  down  ; she  came  forward 
on  the  steps  and  reentered  the  house  several  times, 
so  as  to  show  me  her  disdain.  I took  advantage  of 
the  moment  she  came  out  upon  the  perron,  and  I 
begged  the  count  to  walk  up  to  the  chateau  ; I wished 
to  speak  to  Madeleine,  I alleged  a last  wish  that  the 
countess  had  confided  to  me,  I had  no  other  means 
of  seeing  her ; the  count  went  to  fetch  her  and  left 
us  alone  on  the  terrace. 

“Dear  Madeleine/’  I said,  “if  I must  speak  to 
you,  was  it  not  here  that  your  mother  listened  to  me 
when  she  had  to  complain,  not  so  much  of  me  as  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY  411 

the  events  of  life  ? I know  your  thoughts,  but  are 
you  not  condemning  me  without  knowing  the  facts  ? 
My  life  and  happiness  are  bound  up  in  this  spot,  you 
know  that,  and  you  drive  me  away  by  the  coldness 
that  you  show  in  the  place  of  the  brotherly  affection 
that  united  us,  and  that  death  has  tightened  by  the 
link  of  the  same  sorrow.  Dear  Madeleine,  you  for 
whom  I would  lay  down  my  life  this  instant  without 
any  hope  of  reward,  without  your  knowing  it  even, 
so  much  do  we  love  the  children  of  those  who  have 
protected  us  through  life,  you  do  not  know 
the  plan  entertained  by  your  adorable  mother 
these  last  seven  years,  and  which  would  doubt- 
less modify  your  sentiments ; but  I do  not  want 
these  advantages.  All  that  I beg  of  you  is  not  to 
deprive  me  of  the  right  to  come  and  breathe  the 
air  of  this  terrace,  and  to  wait  until  time  shall 
have  altered  your  ideas  about  social  life  ; just  now, 
I would  take  great  care  not  to  clash  with  them  ; I 
respect  a sorrow  that  distracts  you,  for  it  robs  me 
too  of  the  faculty  of  clearly  judging  the  circum- 
stances in  which  I find  myself.  The  saint  who  is  now 
watching  over  us  would  approve  of  the  reticence  I 
observe,  whilst  praying  you  only  to  remain  neutral 
betwixt  your  feelings  and  me.  I love  you  too  much, 
in  spite  of  the  aversion  you  show  me,  to  tell  the 
count  of  a plan  he  would  embrace  with  ardor.  Be 
free.  Later  on,  remember  that  you  will  never 
know  anyone  in  the  world  better  than  you  know 
me,  that  no  other  man's  heart  will  be  fuller  of  more 
devoted  sentiments — ” 


412 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


Until  now,  Madeleine  had  been  listening  to  me 
with  downcast  eyes,  but  she  stopped  me  by  a 
gesture. 

“ Monsieur/  she  said  in  a voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  “I,  too,  know  all  your  thoughts;  but  my 
feelings  will  never  change  in  regard  to  you,  and  I 
would  rather  throw  myself  into  the  Indre  than  be 
united  to  you.  I will  not  speak  about  myself  ; but, 
if  my  mothers  name  still  has  any  influence  over 
you,  it  is  in  her  name  I beg  you  never  to  come  to 
Clochegourde  as  long  as  I am  here.  The  mere  sight 
of  you  causes  me  a distress  that  I cannot  express, 
and  that  1 shall  never  overcome. ” 

She  bowed  to  me  with  a motion  full  of  dignity, 
and  went  up  again  toward  Clochegourde,  without 
turning  round,  as  impassive  as  her  mother  was  one 
day,  but  pitiless.  Although  tardily,  this  young 
girl’s  sharp  eye  had  divined  all  in  her  mother’s 
heart,  and  it  may  be  that  her  repugnance  to  a man 
who  seemed  baneful  to  her  had  been  augmented  by 
some  regret  at  her  own  innocent  complicity.  Here 
all  was  chaos.  Madeleine  hated  me,  refusing  to  ex- 
plain whether  I was  the  cause  or  the  victim  of  these 
misfortunes  ; perhaps  she  would  have  hated  us  both 
alike,  her  mother  and  me,  had  we  been  happy. 
Thus  all  was  destroyed  in  the  fine  edifice  of  my 
happiness.  I alone  was  to  know  the  life  of  this 
great,  unknown  woman  in  its  entirety,  I alone  had 
read  her  soul  in  its  full  extent ; neither  her  mother, 
nor  father,  nor  husband,  nor  children  had  known 
her.  Strange  ! 1 ransack  this  heap  of  ashes  and  de- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


413 


light  in  spreading  them  out  before  you  ; we  may  all 
find  something  of  our  most  valuable  chances  in  it. 
How  many  families  also  have  their  Henriette  ! how 
many  noble  beings  leave  this  earth  without  having 
met  an  intelligent  historian  who  will  have  sounded 
their  hearts,  who  will  have  gauged  their  depth  and 
strength ! This  is  human  life  in  all  its  truth : 
mothers  often  do  not  know  their  children  any  better 
than  their  children  know  them  ; it  is  the  same  with 
husbands,  lovers  and  brothers  ! How  could  I tell,  I, 
that  one  day,  even  over  my  father's  coffin,  I should 
plead  with  Charles  de  Vandenesse,  with  my  brother, 
to  whose  advancement  I had  contributed  so  much  ? 
Heavens ! how  much  instruction  in  the  very  sim- 
plest story  ! 

When  Madeleine  had  disappeared  through  the 
door  of  the  perron,  I returned,  broken-hearted,  to 
say  good-bye  to  my  hosts,  and  I left  for  Paris,  follow- 
ing the  right  bank  of  the  Indre,  by  which  I had  come 
into  this  valley  the  first  time.  I passed  sadly  through 
the  pretty  village  of  Pont-de-Ruan.  And  yet  I was 
rich,  political  life  was  smiling  upon  me,  I was  no 
longer  the  weary  pedestrian  of  1814.  At  that  time, 
my  heart  had  been  full  of  desire  ; now,  my  eyes 
were  full  of  tears  ; then,  I had  my  life  to  fill ; now, 
I felt  it  empty.  I was  very  young,  twenty-nine 
years  old,  my  heart  was  already  withered.  A few 
years  had  sufficed  to  strip  this  scene  of  its  early 
splendors  and  to  sicken  me  of  life.  Now  you  can 
understand  my  emotion  when,  upon  turning  round, 
I saw  Madeleine  on  the  terrace. 


414 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


Governed  by  uncontrollable  sadness,  I thought  no 
more  of  the  purpose  of  my  journey.  Lady  Dudley 
must  indeed  have  been  far  from  my  mind,  that  I 
should  have  entered  her  courtyard  without  knowing 
it.  Once  the  blunder  committed,  it  had  to  be 
carried  through.  In  her  house  my  habits  had  been 
conjugal,  and  I went  up  feeling  sorry  in  thinking  of 
all  the  vexations  of  a rupture.  If  you  have  thor- 
oughly understood  Lady  Dudley’s  character  and 
ways,  you  will  be  able  to  imagine  my  discomfiture 
when  her  butler  ushered  me,  in  travelling  attire, 
into  a salon  where  I found  her  gorgeously  dressed, 
surrounded  by  five  persons.  Lord  Dudley,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  old  statesmen  of  England,  was 
standing  up  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  stiff,  full  of 
conceit,  cold,  with  the  sneering  air  he  must  have 
worn  in  Parliament  ; he  smiled  upon  hearing  my 
name.  Arabella’s  two  children,  who  were  amaz- 
ingly like  De  Marsay,  one  of  the  old  milord’s  natural 
sons,  who  was  there  on  the  settee  beside  the 
marchioness,  were  near  their  mother.  Arabella, 
upon  seeing  me,  immediately  assumed  a haughty 
expression,  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  my  travelling 
cap,  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  ask  me  every  mo- 
ment what  I wanted  in  her  house.  She  stared  at 
me  as  she  would  have  done  at  a country  gentleman 
who  might  have  been  presented  to  her.  As  to  our 
intimacy,  that  eternal  passion,  those  protestations  of 
dying  if  I ceased  to  love  her,  that  Armidean  phan- 
tasmagoria, all  had  vanished  like  a dream.  I had 
never  squeezed  her  hand,  I was  a stranger,  she  did 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


415 


not  know  me.  In  spite  of  the  diplomatic  composure 
to  which  I was  beginning  to  get  accustomed,  I was 
surprised,  and  any  one  else  would  have  been  the 
same  in  my  place.  De  Marsay  was  smiling  at  his 
boots,  which  he  was  examining  with  strange  affecta- 
tion. My  mind  was  soon  made  up.  From  any 
other  woman,  I should  have  taken  a rebuff  quietly  ; 
but,  exasperated  at  seeing  the  heroine  who  wanted 
to  die  of  love,  and  who  had  mocked  at  death,  un- 
abashed, I determined  to  confront  insolence  with 
insolence.  She  knew  of  Lady  Brandon’s  disaster  ; 
to  remind  her  of  it,  was  to  deal  her  a stab  in  the 
heart,  although  the  weapon  was  bound  to  be  blunted 
by  it. 

“ Madame, ” I said,  “you  will  forgive  me  for 
coming  in  so  unceremoniously,  when  you  hear  that 
I come  from  Touraine,  and  that  Lady  Brandon  has 
charged  me  with  a message  for  you  which  will  brook 
no  delay.  I feared  to  find  that  you  had  left  for  Lan- 
cashire ; but,  since  you  are  to  remain  in  Paris,  I 
will  await  your  commands  and  the  hour  at  which 
you  will  deign  to  receive  me.” 

She  bent  her  head  and  I went  out.  From  that 
day,  I have  never  met  her  except  in  society,  where 
we  exchange  a friendly  greeting  and  sometimes  an 
epigram.  I talk  to  her  of  the  inconsolable  Lanca- 
shire women,  she  talks  to  me  of  the  Frenchwomen 
who  do  credit  to  their  despair  by  their  stomachic 
diseases.  Thanks  to  her  exertions,  I have  a deadly 
<enemy  in  De  Marsay,  whom  she  is  very  fond  of. 
And  I,  I say  she  married  the  two  generations.  So 


416  the  lily  of  the  valley 

my  disaster  fell  short  in  no  respect.  I carried  out 
the  plan  that  I had  determined  upon  during  my  re- 
treat at  Sache.  I threw  myself  into  work,  I applied 
myself  to  science,  literature  and  politics  ; I took  up 
diplomacy  upon  the  accession  of  Charles  X.  who 
suppressed  the  office  that  I had  held  under  the  late 
king.  From  that  moment,  I resolved  never  to  pay 
attention  to  any  woman,  no  matter  how  beautiful, 
how  clever,  how  sympathetic  she  might  be.  This 
decision  answered  my  purpose  admirably  ; I ac- 
quired an  incredible  peace  of  mind,  a strong  power 
for  work,  and  I realized  how  much  of  our  lives  these 
women  waste,  thinking  they  have  repaid  us  by  a few 
gracious  words.  But  all  my  resolutions  came  to 
nothing  : you  know  how  and  why. 

Dear  Natalie,  in  telling  you  my  life  unreservedly 
and  frankly,  just  as  I would  tell  it  to  myself ; in 
recounting  feelings  in  which  you  were  in  no  way 
concerned,  I may  perhaps  have  chafed  some  inner 
recess  of  your  jealous  and  sensitive  heart ; but  what 
might  irritate  an  ordinary  woman  will,  I am  sure, 
be  to  you  an  additional  reason  for  loving  me.  With 
souls  that  are  suffering  and  sick,  the  best  women 
have  a sublime  role  to  play,  that  of  the  Sister  of 
Mercy  who  dresses  the  wounds,  that  of  the  mother 
who  forgives  the  child.  Artists  and  great  poets  are 
not  the  only  ones  to  suffer : the  men  who  live  for 
their  country,  for  the  future  of  nations,  by  enlarging 
their  circle  of  passions  and  ideas,  often  create  a 
very  cruel  solitude  for  themselves.  They  need  to 
feel  a pure,  devoted  love  beside  them  ; be  sure  they 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


417 


know  its  grandeur  and  its  worth.  To-morrow  I 
shall  know  whether  I have  been  mistaken  in  loving 
you. 

TO  MONSIEUR  LE  COMTE  FELIX  DE  VANDENESSE 
“ DEAR  COUNT 

“You  received  from  this  poor  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  a letter,  which,  you  say,  has  not  been  un- 
profitable in  guiding  you  through  the  world,  a 
letter  to  which  you  owe  your  great  success.  Per- 
mit me  to  complete  your  education.  For  mercy’s 
sake,  get  rid  of  a detestable  habit ; do  not  imitate 
those  widows  who  are  always  talking  of  their  first 
husband,  who  always  fling  the  virtues  of  the  de- 
ceased in  the  face  of  the  second.  I am  French,  dear 
count ; I should  wish  to  marry  all  of  the  man  I loved, 
and  I could  not,  really,  marry  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 
After  having  read  your  story  with  the  attention  it 
merits,  and  you  know  what  interest  I take  in  you,  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  you  bored  Lady  Dudley  con- 
siderably by  confronting  her  with  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf s perfections,  and  behaved  very  badly  to  the 
countess  by  overwhelming  her  with  the  resources  of 
English  love.  You  have  been  wanting  in  tact  with 
me,  a poor  creature,  who  has  no  other  merit  than 
that  of  pleasing  you  ; you  have  given  me  to  under- 
stand that  I loved  you  neither  like  Henriette,  nor 
like  Arabella.  I admit  my  shortcomings,  I know 
them  ; but  why  make  me  so  painfully  conscious  of 
them  ? Do  you  know  whom  I pity  ? The  fourth 
woman  that  you  will  love.  She  will  necessarily  be 
27 


418  the  lily  of  the  valley 

obliged  to  struggle  against  three  persons  ; I should 
also  warn  you,  in  your  own  interests  as  well  as  hers, 
against  the  danger  of  your  memory.  I renounce  the 
onerous  glory  of  loving  you  : it  would  need  too  many 
Catholic  or  Anglican  qualities,  and  I do  not  care  for 
fighting  phantoms.  The  virtues  of  the  Virgin  of 
Clochegourde  would  dishearten  the  most  self-confi- 
dent woman,  and  your  intrepid  Amazon  discourages 
the  boldest  desires  of  happiness.  Whatever  she 
might  do,  a woman  could  never  hope  to  give  you  de- 
lights equal  to  her  ambition.  Neither  the  heart  nor 
the  senses  could  triumph  over  your  memories.  You 
have  forgotten  that  we  often  ride  on  horseback.  I 
have  not  known  how  to  rekindle  the  sun  that  was 
chilled  by  the  death  of  your  Saint  Henriette,  you  would 
shiver  beside  me.  My  friend — for  you  will  always 
be  my  friend, — take  care  that  you  do  not  renew  such 
confidences,  which  expose  your  disenchantment,  dis- 
courage love  and  drive  a woman  to  diffidence  of  her- 
self. Love,  dear  count,  lives  only  upon  faith.  The 
woman  who,  before  speaking  a word,  or  mounting 
her  horse,  wonders  whether  a celestial  Henriette 
would  not  talk  better,  or  whether  an  equestrian  like 
Arabella  would  not  display  more  grace,  that  woman, 
depend  upon  it,  would  have  trembling  legs  and 
tongue.  You  aroused  my  desire  to  receive  a few  of 
your  intoxicating  bouquets,  but  you  do  not  make  up 
any  more  of  them.  It  is  the  same  with  a host  of 
things  that  you  dare  not  do  any  more,  thoughts  and 
pleasures  that  can  never  live  again  for  you.  No 
woman,  rest  assured,  would  wish  to  jostle  the  dead 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


419 


woman  that  you  keep  in  your  heart.  You  beg  me 
to  love  you  out  of  Christian  charity.  I admit,  I can 
do  an  infinity  of  things  through  charity,  all,  save 
love. 

“ You  are  sometimes  boring  and  bored,  you  call  your 
sadness  by  the  name  of  melancholy  : well  and  good  : 
but  you  are  insufferable  and  you  give  cruel  anxiety 
to  her  who  loves  you.  I have  too  often  encountered 
the  Saint’s  tomb  between  us ; I have  reflected,  1 
know  myself  and  I do  not  want  to  die  like  her.  If 
you  wearied  Lady  Dudley,  who  is  an  extremely 
superior  woman,  I,  who  have  not  her  furious  desires, 
I am  afraid  of  growing  cold  even  sooner  than  she  did. 
Let  us  do  away  with  love  between  us,  since  you  can 
never  taste  the  happiness  of  it  again  save  with  the 
dead,  and  let  us  remain  friends,  lam  willing.  Why, 
dear  count,  you  started  with  an  adorable  woman,  a 
perfect  mistress  who  thought  of  your  success,  who 
gave  you  the  peerage,  who  loved  you  enthusiastically, 
who  only  asked  you  to  be  faithful,  and  you  made  her 
die  of  grief ! but  I never  heard  of  anything  so  mon- 
strous. Among  all  the  most  ardent  and  the  most  un- 
fortunate young  men  who  drag  their  ambitions  on 
the  Paris  pavement,  which  of  them  would  not  be 
steady  for  ten  years  to  obtain  half  the  favors  that 
you  did  not  know  how  to  requite  ? When  one  is 
loved  like  this,  what  more  can  one  ask  for  ? 

“Poor  woman!  she  has  indeed  suffered,  and, 
when  you  have  composed  a few  sentimental  phrases, 
you  think  yourself  quits  with  her  coffin.  Such 
no  doubt  is  the  reward  that  awaits  my  affection 


420 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


for  you.  Thanks,  dear  count,  I will  have  no 
rival  either  beyond  or  on  this  side  of  the  grave. 
When  one  has  such  crimes  upon  one’s  conscience, 
at  least  one  should  not  tell  them.  I made  you 
an  indiscreet  request  ; I was  in  my  role  of 
woman,  daughter  of  Eve ; yours  consisted  in  cal- 
culating the  import  of  your  reply.  You  should  have 
deceived  me ; later,  I should  have  thanked  you. 
Have  you  then  never  understood  the  virtue  of  men 
of  gallantry  ? Do  you  not  realize  how  generous 
they  are  in  swearing  to  us  that  they  have  never 
loved,  that  they  love  for  the  first  time  ? Your  pro- 
gramme is  impracticable.  To  be  both  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  and  Lady  Dudley, — why,  my  friend,  is  not 
that  trying  to  unite  fire  and  water  ? Then  you  do 
not  know  women  ? they  are  what  they  are,  they 
are  bound  to  have  the  faults  of  their  qualities.  You 
met  Lady  Dudley  too  soon  to  be  able  to  appreciate 
her,  and  the  ill  you  say  of  her  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  revenge  of  your  wounded  vanity ; you  under- 
stood Madame  de  Mortsauf  too  late,  you  punished 
the  one  for  not  being  the  other ; what  will  happen 
to  me,  I who  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  ? 

“ I love  you  sufficiently  to  have  deeply  reflected 
upon  your  future,  for  I really  love  you  very  much. 
Your  air  of  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance  has 
always  profoundly  interested  me ; I believed  in  the 
constancy  of  melancholy  men  ; but  I did  not  know 
that  you  had  killed  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
virtuous  of  women  upon  your  entry  into  society. 
Well,  I have  wondered  what  remains  for  you  to  do : 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 


421 


I have  thought  it  well  over.  I think,  my  friend, 
that  you  must  marry  some  Mrs.  Shandy,  who  will 
know  nothing  about  love  or  passion,  who  will  not 
worry  about  either  Lady  Dudley  or  Madame  de 
Mortsauf,  very  indifferent  to  those  moments  of  bore- 
dom that  you  call  melancholy,  in  which  you  are 
about  as  amusing  as  the  rain,  and  who  will  be  that 
'Worthy  Sister  of  Mercy  that  you  ask  for.  As  to 
loving,  thrilling  at  a word,  knowing  how  to  wait 
upon  happiness,  to  bestow  it,  to  receive  it,  to  feel 
the  thousand  storms  of  passion,  as  to  espousing  the 
petty  vanities  of  a loved  woman,  my  dear  count, 
give  it  up.  You  have  too  well  followed  the  advice 
that  your  good  angel  gave  you  about  young  women  ; 
you  have  so  avoided  them,  that  you  do  not  know 
them  at  all.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  right  to  esti- 
mate you  highly  from  the  outset : all  women  would 
have  been  against  you,  and  you  would  have  come 
to  nothing.  It  is  too  late  now  to  begin  your  studies, 
to  learn  to  tell  us  what  we  love  to  hear,  to  be  ap- 
propriately magnanimous,  to  adore  our  pettinesses 
when  it  pleases  us  to  be  petty.  We  are  not  as  silly 
as  you  think  : when  we  love,  we  place  the  man  of 
our  choice  above  everything.  Whatever  shakes  our 
faith  in  our  superiority,  shakes  our  love.  In  flatter- 
ing us,  you  flatter  yourselves.  If  you  are  desirous 
of  remaining  in  society,  of  enjoying  the  acquaint- 
ance of  women,  carefully  hide  from  them  all  that 
you  have  told  me : they  like  neither  to  scatter  the 
flowers  of  their  love  upon  rocks,  nor  to  waste  their 
caresses  in  healing  an  ailing  heart.  All  women 


422  THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

would  find  out  the  barrenness  of  your  heart,  and 
you  would  always  be  unhappy.  Very  few  of  them 
would  be  frank  enough  to  tell  you  what  I tell  you, 
or  sufficiently  good-natured  to  resign  you  without 
ill-will  in  offering  you  their  friendship,  as  does  to- 
day she  who  signs  herself  your  devoted  friend, 

“ Natalie  de  Manerville.” 


Paris,  October,  1835. 


LIST  OF  ETCHINGS 


VOLUME  XXVII 

PAGB 

THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  MAISON  PAPION  . . Fronts. 

IN  THE  SALON  AT  CLOCHEGOURDE 96 

HENRIETTE  TO  FELIX 188 

ON  THE  INDRE 256 

LADY  DUDLEY,  MME.  DE  MORTSAUF  AND  FELIX  . . 332 

27  C.  H.,  Lily,  T,  423 


